Cold winter mists settle on bare branches across the mountains. The water collects and pools into droplets that find their way to the stream. Soon tiny trickles join and wind their way to river. I sat quietly in forest and listened to the voice of the water as it told me of all the sights it witnessed on it’s journey. The oaks and Beech are sleeping deeply now but laurels never rest. And in the shade of the laurels a doe lays with her belly swelling up full of new life. The stream is anxious to see the innocent play of the fawn. Will it run and splash and play. New legs are so full of excitement. And just today an otter emerged from the bank and rubbed his sleepy eyes. With a few playful bounds he slipped into the shallow and slid the length of a football field downstream only to run back up the mountain and do it again. The Brook confesses that she too has children under her stones as tiny dragonfly larvae wait for the light to call them from the water to spread their wings for the first time ever and become masters of the breeze. I listened to these tales and many more until the urgency of my day called me back to the big blue truck and my next destination.
Good night friends and be blessed throughout your days.
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