Rainbow scales glisten under sun kissed rumblings,
As the rushing water smoothly rolled on,
A Great Blue Heron sits regally perched on an old mossy oak log,
The warm early summer breeze frolics gleefully through the vibrant dark green leaves of the wise sycamores.
A scene of such harmonious perfection, That no painter could have dreamt it,
Yet this does not take place at the mouth of some great river,
No town is named after it,
No dam controlling its power,
It’s just a small river that flows endlessly,
Connecting large rivers to one another,
A gentle cog in the wheels of time.
Yet there is beauty in this small stream,
It has a soul that clings to the water,
A spirit that drifts upon the air,
There is a feeling of peace granted to those who would search for it,
A feeling that displaces despair.
Maybe the river is small,
But still it flows a source of wonder to all.
