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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/campfires/item_id/2080074-Stream-in-a-Meadow
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by Alex
Rated: E · Campfire Creative · Other · Philosophy · #2080074
A symbolic story about perspective.
[Introduction]


Stream in a Meadow
A reflection of my eyes ever so bright in an ever changing narrow stream. Blue water sparkling through an open meadow untouched by man’s destroying hands. I was sitting on an overgrown patch of grass surrounded by sugar white daisies. Relaxed as can be, I inhaled the fresh morning air as my bare arms grazed the newly formed dew. I had finally gotten away from people’s evil stares and stabbing words that never seemed to stop pounding at the hearts of the innocent. No one around me, a steady silence, birds chirping, butterflies with no care. Now bored with sitting, I allowed my tired feet to fly across the misunderstood weeds which bore no thorns. Brisk air swept my hair back behind me as I came up upon a winding turn in the shining stream. My brain made a decision against my heart's will to stop and relax my legs that have been abused my human’s growing economy. I ran my hand in circles in the shallow stream. It felt amazing to run my fingers along the bored gray stones that laid beneath the surface. Never have I ever seen such a sparkling clear blue in my years of living. Not even the joy in a newborn’s eyes could top this gift of nature. The liquescent sparkles leaped through my productive fingers. I started thinking for myself, an act which has been forgotten by most of society. When water changes it is dependent on temperature. On a torrid summer day, the graceful water in which the stream contains heads upward and makes white puffy flowers and animals in the never ending canvas above our heads. And out of these imagination constructed things that hang in blue or black comes unique configurations and tear shapes of warm water. A bird’s song interrupted my thought, so I moved from my sitting position and walked easily alongside the slow churning stream. Cool breezes ran up my figure and around my lips as I slipped back into the deep trenches of human thought. The temperature pushes the water to become clear hard ice. This blue appearing liquid that may represent hope and faith for others, adapts and fits in with the cool and the hot of the Earth. Now does this happen because it is forced or does it depend on one another for support and guidance? Is it a game of revenge or a show of friendship? I guess it’s all about perspective.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/campfires/item_id/2080074-Stream-in-a-Meadow