KENTON'S BLUEHOLE; have you ever walked a mile?

Allowing for the owners of adjacent land surrounding the creek leading down to Kenton's Bluehole & then beyond to that farm born off a hill, I'd take my time looking for a grappled hand-full of mint, or chew a piece of watercress just wanting to know this plot. The church up the way had pine trees lining the parking lot & I'd lay under one in its fallen needles & read awhile absorbing the once-was & ominous reckoning that meant a soon-to-be disturbance because of thoughts about an earth-scrapper abandoned, but not this place (over-all), as I am here, & what is next? Having fallen in the creek in the dead cold mid-winter snow, never gave its desired affect, that I should leave well-enough alone--just walked home & got into something dry--a detail that lends no-struggle to ITS report. Or the old collapsing ice-house with a perfect cemented-room for a club house, though we couldn't have maintained an incognitive presence there, the Colony neighborhood being so close by & really the wooded vistas around it naturally was effective like this: we were there for it & not what an encumbering urban sprawl could offer. Spring water from the moldering earth was part of the pace at which we received the tally of everyday living in Gardenside neighborhood. ****If words were sentient & only awaited to penetrate innumerable spheres of being, then into the bubble of experience which surrounds us as identity-projected is its destined helpmate. I nutured & stoked the fires of awareness drawing upon my diary actually drawn-characters, symbolic though they were of the time spent re-evaluating the direction I had been going. I considered a flagging wisp of abstraction as the explanate moments walking back from the Univ. of Ky to Rebel rd. The meaning of which would necessarily come to me in dreams inspired by physically struggling to get back home walking that long distance, late in the wee hrs. of the am. down past two hospitals, stores, yards, apts., etc. The dream containing these wisps had me rise off the ground in expectation of catching the siren of pain-escaped, mottling through the air with shadows in & out & under the street lamps in a grand chase. Non-assessable consciousness is utterly the result of physical exertion, & finally I knew it was all not for nothing that I could embellish my walk experience with a dreamt-reprieve... dreamt it was!