It meanders through a gorge or two, a marsh, a water meadow, a delta of sorts, and it makes a quiet music as it goes along, even in winter. Near the end of its journey, it turns for home and the beaver pond, meeting up with the incline and the rocks at the far edge of the meadow.Now it really begins to dance and sing, a whole fluid chorus of unfettered joy with clouds of steam rising and even the rocks joining in.
3 comments:
The mountains and woods where I often hike are full of sounds. Creakings of cedars in a wind, gurglings of distant rivers, footsteps of wild deer, etc. For those who are willing to listen, and those who have good ears. On the way down from the mountains, I always hear my ears cutting through the air as I walk. I never hear it when I live in town.
You post food for my soul. It is too cold for me to be out today but I am reveling in your words and images.
A friend sent me your link as a Winter gift. I can see why; I've been drinking in the images and thoughts. Thank you and blessings.
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