Memories of Cloudless Fall Days

The water fairly trips over rocks
As I sit beside this stream.
(It flows, and flows, and never stops.)
And while it trips, I dream.

I dream of other cloudless days,
When nothing made a sound.
(Except for squirells and little jays
And the skipping stones I'd found.)

I hid there among the maple trees
In the kalidescope of Fall.
Bending over, on my knees
Beside that stream; the water fell

Between my fingers, cold and wet,
Caressing me with care.
Shameful to think that I'd forget
The time that I'd spent there.