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Following a Winter Stream

Wandering one day I found a little stream. Hours from home, I spent time drinking the raindrops off the cedar and salal leaves, to satisfy my thirst. Its hard to believe that its these little drips finding their way over the land, following the pull of gravity, that eventually form the stream. Captivated I began to follow her.

The stream, Sometimes still and spacious, Sometimes softly bubbling, Sometimes tumbling wildly and loudly, Just like me.

The promise of the next valley pulling me ever over the next edge. With each new turn she gathered strength and momentum. My movements became deer-like; over mossy bluffs, soft cedar groves, over and under logs of ancient fallen trees. I had to go back several days see the whole length of her. Each day I came home and saw patterns of lichen, and branching trees and curling water as I closed my eyes.

On the final day I followed the stream all the way to where she met the sea.

There she was greeted by waves rolling over to meet her. The colliding water sparkled in a way that seemed to rejoice.

Time like gravity pulls me back to my source. When I eventually meet it I hope I too will rejoice.


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