Just a little stream.
A little stream running through a little park
In the middle of this little town.
But lain across that little stream
Lies the trunk of an old fallen oak,
Who I like to visit from time to time.
It is one of the last days of March –
And though Winter has not yet given her farewell embrace –
The sun is shining on a blue sky
With fluffy little clouds floating by.
I sit on this log and for a time,
The civilized signs stop screaming and I
Find myself in a peaceful reverie.
This little stream runs alongside the path,
But here it gives the path a bow to hide
This dreaming place of mine.
My feet dangle over the water,
And to my right the water rushes downward:
Flowing under the oak’s branches,
Lost around a bend downstream;
My feet dangle over the water,
And to my left the water falls:
O’er the great oak’s feet,
Lost around a bend downstream.
I look back and see a pool,
The water, dammed by my favorite perch,
Slowly trickles down beneath and
Rushes along the banks.
After a stagnant winter
I sit on the edge of this moment of change
And look to my future swiftly flowing,
Lost ‘round a bend downstream.
When I get up to go somehow I know
The sky will darken with rain clouds running in,
And as I walk along this little path to home I’ll see
Many a bend and a twist ahead
And a long-since-fallen bridge.
I lay down to bask in the warm sunshine
And look up through skeletal living branches,
Like cracks in my view of heaven.
“I am water” whispers the world to me.
I close my eyes and feel the flow,
Eddy! Rush! Ebb and go,
Lost ‘round a bend downstream.
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