Thursday, January 12, 2012

pondering a creek

A creek

I am not in the mountains
I did not travel far to get here
this I know.
And yet, the creek-
 it deceives me.

The water flows slowly 
from the upper fields toward the low ground.

No babbling
no laurels
no hopping stones.
Just sand - and mud.

But someone
someone who, like me,
longed to feel


carried river rocks
built a dam
created a waterfall.

I heard it before I saw it
I paused in the pasture to listen
No sound compares

Though the cackling of a fire comes close.

~Michelle McConnell

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