Grasping and nodding, side to side.
Meandering among the trees.
The water does what it’s told.
Dipping and falling down the riverbed.
It’s course is known, understood for one thousand years.
Every blade of grass, corrects it’s path.
It’s time is not long.
The river’s age old.
But the blade doesn’t know, the animals don’t know,
How deep in flows.
At the bottom, hundreds of tree limbs, tree stumps.
The river shrinks, the river grows.
But there it is.
Moving, pushing,
grinding down, hollowing out,
everything in it’s path.
Massive valleys.
Proof of water, proof of sun, proof of rain,
Proof of life beyond.
Abundance, the wild green.
Proof of itself.
No comments:
Post a Comment