A Beaver’s Tail

Some will never understand. Some will question. None can answer. I have this pattering going on in my chest, like a beaver slapping its tail in the river. The rhythm in which I walk. The sun rises and the sun sets on my own day, with change of seasons and revolutions. Like a beaver, I wonder in search of extra strength to which I can build my dam that holds all my life's emotions, dreams, and sorrows. I rely on the current to lead me, that strong hand to show me, and that special slap of the beaver's tail to tell me. We who walk to build know the way in the forest, for the beat and river is our guide