Water flows over and around the boulder.
It is not an obstacle, this is just the way of the path.
I dreamed of the marsh in winter
and saw tawny wheat growing in sand as soft as a cloud.
Rushing ever onward
frigid but not freezing February waters
swirl around January ice.
Dusk sweeps in on a sparrow’s wing.
The diving ducks race each other.
Running on the surface of the water, shattering reflections,
before launching themselves into flight.
God’s speed web-footed friends.
A slide of green velvet moss,
a plush pile carpet of leaves,
water carbonated with laughter –
this is the spot where the fairies play.
No matter the obstacle,
water always finds its way home.