Brisk gusts of wind
danced over the water
picking up its icy chill.
The sunlight peeked through
the clouds and streaked the air;
soaked the ground with its warmth.
Icicles dangled in the rushing
waters – threatening to pull stems,
twigs, roots, and small plants deep
into the swirling rush. the winter creek
Leaping, the earth-colored dog chased
her stick, she saw it there on the other side
she watched it as water threatened to wash
it away, with trepidation, she watched
and planned how to reach the other side.
Down she dashed to reach the other side.
Retrieved, relieved, she returns.
To repeat. The grass, dry and brown.
The ground, a bed of pine needles,
dry and drying leaves, and icy dew.
In the sun, the ground became warm
inviting, firm but not unyielding.
Line stretched, taut – also unyielding.
Bait, left untouched, pole left forgotten
with enthusiasm, surrounding area discovered,
havens uncovered. Return, lunch eaten, and icy
winds returning, the sun retreating, and
day ending. A tired and happy dog leaps
into the car, head out the window, sun
peeking through the pines. Car packed,
and gratitude for the creek, the pines
the mountain day, the dog, and life.
Some days are lived, remembered, magic
Some places are felt, reverberated through
the soul, through life, through rocks and
under logs, through roots, over sticks.
Never stopping, never faltering, the water
always changing but steady, never wavering.
More powerful than stone, the water, persisted.
The water would not cease and only gained strength
from the rush over and through the rocks of life.