Woosh

Trickle, trickle

Hi friends,

Here’s a poem!

I wish

I wish I could describe the sound of this moving water
I wish I could capture the peace of it,
the intentionality of it,
the way it weaves around stone
in a constant, slow moving meander downward
making vibrations of air and molecule
in musical motion.
I wish I could bring in the back up vocals,
the insects nibbling my arms,
the bird chatter, the creature-plant exchange,
the breeze through it all, the smell of damp rock, 
tiny bubbles rising and popping.
I wish I could tell you how my butt is
damp from sitting on this dead branch bench,
here before the the sun has pulled out its moisture,
or how I don’t care (much) because the creek is creating
this symphonic masterpiece with spider conductors
and mosquito hecklers (those cultureless vampires!).
I wish I could linger here
by this creek with no visible fish
that’s moving just too fast for insect eggs.
I wish I could sit here on my branch
until it and I were dry.
I wish I could stay here,
uninterrupted in meditation,
absorbed in the beautiful
subtle changes in harmonies
and sun play.
I wish I could,
but the sound of this moving water
has evoked a biological sensation within me,
so, with haste, I must seek out other waters.

In wordy wordiness,