Published 'Sierra Heaven' 1996
There was a Prince who loved the river flowing through the beautiful birdsong wood. Although the Prince owned the wood, he wondered if he owned the river or, at least, that part of the river flowing through his wood or, at the very least, the river-bed under that part of the river flowing through his wood or, at the very very least, the edges of the river-bank.
Such considerations regarding the rights of ownership stirred him further to consider things—and one such consideration related to the air directly above the wood's winding river. Indeed, what about all the air in the wood? And then, of course, there was the sky itself above the wondrous wood—and one must not forget the earth reaching from below the wood towards the Antipodes—and beyond.
The Prince sat in his beautiful birdsong wood musing upon considerations that fed further considerations until his brow furrowed.
And while he sat musing, he dabbled his toes in the flowing river itself and, thus, he mused not only upon the edge of the river-bank but also upon the edge of the selfsame river-bank both by subject-matter and position of his posterior.
He wondered if, at the very very very least, he owned his own toes.
But further considerations ceased as, suddenly, the wood erupted with squawks of birds scattering from the Prince's trees into the wide blue sky.