Posted by: highmountainmuse | March 25, 2009

Open water

Lost Trail Creek slowly opening up in the early spring.

Lost Trail Creek slowly opening up in the early spring.

I remember the sounds of open waters

Sitting by an open brook

The gushing rushing spilling stream

Lying there listening

Feeling my face on the cool damp moss covered ground

 

I remember the feel of my feet in the water

Stepping over slick rocks

Chilling tingling brisk and free

Standing with my head thrown back to the sun

Digging my toes in the gritty sand beneath the waters

 

Isn’t it funny the things we miss?

Keeps us longing for what is next

Anticipating the seasons

Looking around the next bend

How do I remain in the here and now

When memories of yesterday and visions of the future feel so good?

 

I yearn for open water

Creeks running rivers flowing

Not the muffled sound of the river beneath the ice and snow

But the rush roar trickle and drip, drip, drip

I long to float languidly on waters again

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