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
away
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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