The rushing water turns around the bend, taking no real shape, it is wise in its beauty
|The rushing water turns around the bend, taking
no real shape, it is wise in its beauty. Now that the rain
is pouring down in large wet drops,
the creek is a rapids on its own. Strong, angry,
yet graceful, it must be only God whom created
such a complex work of flowing art. You could describe it as art,
but it would not be enough to draw it,
because would not fit on the page.
The creek seems to go on forever,
snaking hastily through the ditch,
not at all giving the impression of stopping.
It would be like trying to catch a rainbow
in the heart of spring. Something so natural
and beautiful is untouchable. God
probably made it so.
On the high end of the ditch yellow
daffodils are scattered lazily. The stems
are hidden beneath tall blades of grass that are every where
you look. Rocks covered with moss
like mushy green blankets
are piled randomly along the creek.
The scene is gone in a moment
as I zoom past in my car. Would a glimpse
more satisfy my hunger to see the creek?
Probably not. Something
that complicatedly appealing you can never get enough of.
I think this while crawling into my bed at night,
my mind overflowing with the image of the spring creek.