Sprinkles of daisy dust gather in the centurion sunlight
Dancing to the gentle notes of the forest glen symphony they
ride the transparent ripples of the long since forgotten spring.
Rhythmically holding hands, the dust’s chorus line forms ripples
barely visible to the casual observer.
Midday sun rays caress the sodden trunks of long since
fallen oaks. Baring the inner core of once proud hard
woods, this idyllic stream shares the beauty of its bottom weeds,
with speckled trout gleefully chasing dinner prey.
Battered wooden slats, wounded concrete boulders, remnants of man’s
brief sojourn in God’s creation, lie silently in the spring brook’s
eternal bed. Undeterred, the spring has recreated its former beauty,
evident to all who pause and meditate, life above, within, and into its depths,
this tiny speck on man’s maps is a tribute to Nature’s regenerative power.
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