I dreamed I went upriver
on young legs until the roar
of snowmelt over boulders
shrank into a meadow
stream lined with pines—
going back in time.
Nothing has changed
the blackened rings,
the chiseled peaks beneath
a blue, blue sky—
and I am small again,
but with older eyes.
Where will our children go
when they get old at night?
What will they follow
to find themselves
content to be
engulfed in awe?
drycrikjournal 
I fear they will go texting on a cell phone
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Obviously, I wonder at times just where that place will be for our children and grandchildren. I’ve been so lucky to have been raised and exposed with so much of the natural world around me. Apart from those devoted to a religion, I really can’t conceive of where that peace, that humility and smallness, will come from. I was raised in a different age.
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Blessed you are for being raised there. I am so jealous. I have to drive for hours (and do) to sample what you live. Always wanted to live there…never did.
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Beautiful poem. I dream that dream too, following waters back to their source.
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