White Bird- It's A Beautiful Day -1968

I'm laying in wet grass after spending the night in a forest overlooking a spectular wide twisting river a thousand feet below.  Lightening struck near us twice during the storm.  The two people with me are silent as we watch the water move.  Someone makes a reference to Herman Hesse's Siddhartha.  Cookoo and dove call all around us in giant oak and straight pine.  We walk through waist high ferns past fields of dandelions painting the hills butter yellow, to a farm house surrounded by fruit trees.  An old women greets us and begs us sit at the tables there, it's almost 6am.  The family operates a restaurant and soon we have cheeses, strawberries, hard dark bread, strong coffee and an omlette of potato, chive, onion, variety of mushroom, and coarse lean bacon.  It's a beautiful day.  4 kilometers down through the woods to the apartment on the Mosel, we take the trail through the cemetary past the 400 year old grave, no one can read the name.  Our boots are muddy, they grit on the cobblestone sidewalk past the fish market, brown eyed smoked eels in the window watch us go.