Streams, or rivers, or creeks (or whatever you call them) are so peaceful in June. The sun sparkles upon the rapids like the light from a miners head lamp shone against newly discovered diamonds in caverns deep. The waters move so purposefully, yet so aimlessly. They smooth themselves out along rocks, branches, landmasses, and these two feet plopped into it. In the most secluded parts of the wild life seems to have more meaning than anywhere else. Maybe because here one can see them self the clearest. When one feels so meaningless beneath the grandeur of this all one must fight for meaning and through that fight true meaning is found. When one feels insignificant beneath the vastness of the stars they must search more intently to find themselves and in that search they find more significance than they thought they’d know.