Life is like a cool mountain brook.
At times, it races over rocks and around sharp turns.
It can crash from agonizing heights, churning and foaming
And soon after, slows to deep inviting pools
With only ripples on the surface
Enticing to others to join in.
The brook can become murky, ugly and barren
But, after resting, it will clear leaving the uglyness behind
And become pure and beautiful enough to sustain life.
When it runs fast it runs shallow
And when it runs deep it appears still.
A brook , by it very nature, is edged with stones
But it is also edged with flowers that it nourishes.
And the flowers nourish passersby with happiness
As they drink from the nectar so often ignored
By those with little time to absorb the beauty around them.
In bad times, a brook may vanish into the sand
Leaving it's boundaries barren and deserted.
Rocks and sand and brittle bones frying in a relentless sun.
It's essence buried deep and secure,
It nourishes nothing.
When times are good, life around it is good.
And it mingles happily with others
Forming a power much greater than itself.
Forming a chorus, gaining in strength
As it flows toward the unknown,
A sea of little brooks.
They have come home.
© 2000 Night.Owl