The magic remains along the creek
spread wide with naked cobbles pressed
together, exposed by flooding sheets
that ripped its sandy banks before
leaving the channel changed—
a landscape rearranged for the moment!
A summer gurgle, herons and egrets come
to wade abandoned pools of pollywogs
shrinking into moss-covered gravel.
Green cockleburs rise-up from ribbons
of sand, high-water veins bleached white
until colored or carried away with the burrs.
The truth is endless here—it will keep
saying the same thing in different ways
well after we are gone.
drycrikjournal 
Great visual words!
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Thanks Dan, a good place to start after JEG accused me of sympathizing with the writers’ strike.
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Exquisite, evocative poem, especially this:
“The truth is endless here—it will keep
saying the same thing in different ways
well after we are gone.”
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Thanks Babsje! Always a little magic somewhere if we’re looking and listening.
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“It will keep saying the same thing in different ways…”
Love that.❤️
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Thanks Jess!
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A good place to start……
Yes it is.
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