(something from the blurred past)

More of the same.
My teeth rattle against this metal. The sides of my face are a constant callous. I pull the weight through the water. The land slips past me the wrong way. I push extra hard. The water bunches up in front and the land slows to a stand-still.
My legs and my jaw ache and finally I cannot continue. My body weakens. I slipped under with a little air and let the load drag me back.
Imagine the pace of the land...
I don't care anymore-
Too tired-
Not sure why I would do it in the first place.
In the fading dimness I feel my back against the weight and the ropes of my yoke. The water pushes on my face. My load and I are caught. Most likely on a rock or log.
"This," I think, "Is where I remain."
The water is cool on my tired body. The last of my air plods its way out of me.
ho hum.
...
My face hurts. My body is warm and dry.
Puke on my chest. I am hanging between the poles of my yoke, hanging over the burden which I pulled. The cart has caught fully on the rock and, turned by the flow, has lifted my skinny self above the waters. I am raised quite high. I now can see even my bloodied feet above the river.
I now can see far ahead. I now can see the forgotten place of my yearning - and remember.
I see the straps and metals that bind me were of my own design, and for what burden?
Crap.
Weighing me down.
All crap.
I can see by degrees how this tinsel would collect itself by me. Fetishes for the journey. How they would destroy me.
The straps and bindings of the yoke are simple and I disarm them.
I stand on this pile of mess with the water churning around.
I breathe quietly.
There is no rush.