The rains are a day past,
and the stream nearly clear;
another freeze is coming,
a winter of wide variation;
looking in the water, three feet down,
into the current, translucent,
transparent, distorting, mesmerizing,
the eye takes it in for a while,
and then it is full.
The rock fades, the stones fade,
the gravel dances, they all but
vanish, and then it is clear,
magnified, perfect, held in
the mind’s eye, as the body
turns away, full.
The gravel dances.
Something to Consider
If you enjoyed this article, we have a proposition for you: Join NRPLUS. Members get all of our content (including the magazine), no paywalls or content meters, an advertising-minimal experience, and unique access to our writers and editors (through conference calls, social media groups, and more). And importantly, NRPLUS members help keep NR going.