Hang Out On The River Shore

Hang Out On The River Shore
© Surazeus
2026 11 10

I never hang out on the river shore 
like my ancestors did millions of years, 
gathering fruit from trees full of fierce snakes, 
fishing from rivers full of crocodiles, 
and huddling in caves we dig from hillsides 
where we eat and sing around the bright fire. 

Though I spend all day at my office desk, 
mapping features with geospatial software 
that depict the infrastructure of towns, 
such as buildings where people live and work, 
and roads where people drive cars back and forth, 
I long to hang out on the river shore. 

While sitting in office with door and window, 
where people walk by sunrise to sunset, 
I imagine how my ancestors lived 
in small pillared homes on the river shore 
where they performed daily routines of life 
gathering food from bounty of the Earth. 

I want to carve wood from trees into planks 
so I can build the house that shelters us, 
and build the wagon that carries our goods, 
and build the boat that transports our frail souls 
to grand temple where tribes from every vale 
gather to feast at sacred festivals. 

I want to chronicle in epic tale 
normal people of prehistoric times 
who go about routines of daily life 
without fighting each other in harsh wars 
over whose mortal leader will play god 
to found dynasties of national rulers. 

Every god recorded in ancient tales, 
and deified in grand religious myths, 
were normal people struggling to survive 
who performed great deeds protecting their tribe, 
fighting against oppressors with strong courage 
so normal people may live in calm peace. 

Some days I want to leave the office calm, 
pause mapping features of our complex world, 
and hang out on the river shore again 
to feel breeze of timeless faith kiss my soul 
so I recall all my ancestral lives 
that program how my brain perceives this world. 

I want to fish, and gather eggs from nests, 
arrange stones in small circle to spark flames 
on which I roast lamb stew with herbs and spices, 
press apples into cider with cinnamon, 
to feast in endless twilight of the world, 
then sing my epic tale of human progress.