In the city I was raised, there was a mass of land full of trees in the middle of the grand river which is actually its name. When my oldest was in pre-school the parents had to take turns riding the morning bus. On one of my shifts, I purposely irritated the driver. I brought up that little island. I talked about different scenarios for about fifteen minutes. The more reaction I got, the more ridiculous my ideas got. He finally told me to be quiet. The driver and I could have been considered friends. It wasn’t the first time we had a crazy conversation. It wasn’t the last.
In this particular conversation, I started the one way conversation with asking, “Do you think anyone lives there?” I brought up different points. All the person had to do is use a boat to get to the mainland to take care of the shopping and pick up their mail. Do they have a fire for light at night or do they use lanterns? Would anyone from either side of the river see the lights? The land rarely gets flooded, but they would have to put their stuff in a tall tree and evacuate when the river runs high. But what would they do in the winter? It gets cold there.
I talked to others about the same thing. They would look at me like I am crazy. Granted, I was having this conversation to get a reaction out of someone, but, at least, one of them could have joined in on my crazy thoughts. I keep my craziest thoughts to myself. But once in a great while one of them would leak. I am lucky to have great and understanding friends who roll with my insanity. My semi crazy thoughts turn into poems or stories for all to read. Maybe, I can come up with a great story about someone living on that island in the middle of the Grand River.
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