streamsong

When I was a little girl, 

I was entranced by streams.  

Little brooks, running in ditches on roadsides, 

meandering through thickets of woods.

Rainfed, clear.

Lined with pebbles and fallen leaves.

They were enchanted, the homes of fairyfolk, of woodland animals.

The light plays and glints

they gurgle and are silent

sometimes, when you return to a place

they're not there at all

...

Now, I am older, but still enthralled.  

I know of more powerful waters,

those rivers and 

their foaming white horses 

swirling eddies

but is there anything so charming

 so calming

as a little stream? 

love,

a wet-footed wren