today i floated over the place where the two great muddy rivers meet. that's where they started if memory serves. who did they pick up along the way? pocahontas or sacajawea or somesuch subservient native girl. as we came in to land i had that churning feeling as the pilot seemed to be steering with his knees. i was strumming the power lines and tracing the icy fingers of farm creeks cracking and freezing into the hard turf of the patchworkquilt. then i raced out west along the painted asphalt slabs until i saw the blinking red lights of massey lane. over the river and through the woods. wild orange men roam these parts. don't disturb the natives.