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.