Wandering

He didn't know where to go, but he would get there somehow. It would be nice to sit back and watch TV or read a book, but today he had to wander. He ended up in a park, and came across a creek running through it. He sat by the bank. Tearing up cigarette butts he had gathered, he rolled himself something to smoke and watched the water roll by. He envied the creek, knowing it would eventually join the Mississippi, then find its way to join the ocean. If only people could be that way, he pondered; all the world coming together in one great mind, finally understanding. The thought made him smile, then he laughed. It felt wonderful to be so naive. He lit his smoke and sang the blues. No music went with a smoke like the blues. Take a puff, sing a line, repeat until there is nothing but ashes or the song is over. A moment like this made him glad to be alive, glad to have this moment all to himself. Soon, he realized, moments like this would be few. He would enjoy it while he could.