“Serenity” whispers the silver creek as it slides by.
Clear waters slowly twirl beneath the glassy ripples.
Twigs bob and twist, yielding to the gentle flow.
Brush, trees, rocks, and ferns, reflected by the journey.
Where from, where to, from highest heights to deepest sleep?
Thoughts pondered by the faces, reflecting in life’s stream.
The rush begins, the rocks break in, churning and chirping.
Frantic waters dance and jump in the rushing chorus.
Irresistible the descending tugs, no stopping now they sing.
A downward race, hurry, hurry, little stream, don’t be late.
No time now for questions, no question to the course.
Follow the flow, think not, just feel the yearning to descend.
Foaming, jostling, tumbling in the mounting momentum.
One moment of turmoil and then all are swept away.
Separated, dropping, falling, like pouring rain, unending rain.
Time seems to stop, for those drops shot from the cliff.
No going back, forward the downward deluge flings.
Deafening the sound, of the falling, mingled shouts resounding.
Most are dashed upon the rocks, fallen, height now spent.
Still hope springs, in the silver mist suspended in the air,
Separated from the flow, shirking the beckoning ground,
More still are called up from the watery grave, rising in the wind.
A silver cloud, witness to the trauma of the fall and rising in the son.
Rainbows glow in the mist, rays of color form this blessed sign.
The fallen waters mourn in rapid’s wake, on to that destined deep.
All around echoing their dying sounds, fading into the night.
Beyond the bend at last, gone from sight, no way but down.
The misty few are drawn heavenward no longer bound,
What can keep them now from floating with the four winds?
Such is the story of the silver creek, mist or fall, tis eternity.