A creek in beauty’s den…
Cascading water in white surge,
finds stones smoothed as glass, strewn
amid the mild turbulence of shallow flow,
and bows of white-barked beauty,
reach pointedly over the water’s edge,
their moss-embraced vine-covered slenderness,
like stalwarts of nature’s way,
as branches fan out finer and finer
into leafy patches, light in profusion,
elegant in pattern.
As sun flickers down like confetti,
to spot the fordable waters with micro-shards,
the surface ripples in light’s regard,
and the scene is alive with movement,
flow and glimmering secrets,
beneath those shiny cliffs,
draped in water’s magic woven garb,
as time in doubtless ambivalence,
marks every now and them,
the time spent.
In the shadows, steps from waters run,
fallen trunks and moss a plenty,
forge mounds of green flourishing life,
and flowers in tiny arrays thrive in moist day,
to color those somber tones,
and yellow they to peaks of grey and green berets,
fight their way to lighter seats
upon that sandy edge of creek,
vying for place in nature’s race,
under skies of blue.
Run, creek run.
Tony DeLorger © 2016