Winding Sticks Standing on a bridge in the moonlight. Staring at the water lapping, dancing in the crystal blue. Time to pick my stick. Wandering down the winding bank. Watching for the light to point out my perfect Poo Stick. Playing alone with nothing but internal influence. On returning to the bridge. (Made of pale stone that glows under the influence of the nighttime hue) I slip and almost fall in the water, almost loose my precious find but I find my balance and like a miracle I return to the bridge unscathed and dry. I look up to the sky. The stars stretching back through time and I catch the#moonin my eye and the face smiles to me. I gaze along the length of my Poo Stick and something inside tells me that I must keep it, that it is precious. My gaze returns to the gently lapping stream, clear and the bed of stones glows. I have made my decision and I drop my hand over the wall of the bridge and gently release my Poo Stick into the slowly turning steam. It bobs to the surface and is lost in the rolling waters of the night.