Thoughts While Paddling
by cricketjeff on March 30, 2012. © Jeff Green, All rights reserved
And sings to the stones that its glad to be free.
It flows through a scene that no troubles can sully,
Beginning its quest to discover the sea.
The tiny stream falls to a clear mountain pool,
Where dippers are washing the night from their eyes,
Then hurries to study its lessons in school
“The history of rivers beneath England’s skies”.
The rill and its siblings will grow ever stronger,
As boiling and churning they fall from the hills.
Through tarns filled with fishes the journey grows longer,
Past bleak limestone crags, down precipitous thrills.
The greys of its birthplace now brighter and greener,
Merge seamlessly into the beauty all round,
As mile after mile it’s becomming serener
The babbling chime’s now a deep, richer sound.
At last it grows up and flows out of its valley,
Down to the bay filled with waders and boats.
Traversing the flats where the tides dilly dally,
Where seagulls chase shadows and red seaweed floats.
All over the world there are similar stories,
Of sparkling brooks that traverse other lands.
They each see their share of disasters and glories
That finish as ripples on holiday sands.