The water glides across the shade the trees above provide;
Beneath the leafy canopy it winds o’er mud and stone;
And here and there a shaft of light designs to peek inside,
Illuminating mossy bank and flowers overgrown.
Descending from the leafy bank are branches reaching for the brook;
The sylvan tendrils gently touch the water’s moving skin;
While other boughs stretch out an arc to form a type of nook,
Creating foliated places one might hide within.
The only noise is nature’s song: the breathing of the air;
The tripping stream, the croaking frogs, the crickets and the birds;
Perhaps the bushes on the bank will whisper when they care,
But otherwise the atmosphere is quite devoid of words.
The water glides across her calves beneath her shortened jeans;
She barefoot slides on rocks and mud across the shallow stream;
And as she slips ‘tween shafts of light which pierce the wooded greens,
Her skin and smile sparkle with each penetrating beam.
She reaches down to pluck a stone from out the brook below;
Her flowing hair greets with a gentle kiss the flowing glass;
She sights a hidden alcove, into which she’s pleased to go,
To lie beneath the branches by the water on the grass.
The flowers listen to her breathe, and the breeze among;
The crickets watch her catch a frog, the mud enjoys her knees;
And berries that she’s picked to eat are melting on her tongue—
And nature thrills to hear her laughter sound throughout the trees.