Granite stream

It was a sanctuary for me;
Broad valley frizzed with trees
Under the gaze of granite hills,
Serene and cool.

The river wide and self-assured,
Yet intricately wrought with rock and
Stepping stones and secret pools.

Water smooth as crystal murmured
Stories as it flowed.
I listened to the narrative unfold,
Tales of storm and rain and rocks
And hills immeasurably old.

Pure air, pure water,
Washing the restless mind:
Contagious purity of earth and sky,
Trickling to the inner depths
Where faith is old and dry.

In the tingling of a moment
the inner scabs and scars all melt away,
The role-plays and pretences cease
And as they do, the compass of emotion creeps
From stress to peace.

I watch my boy collect pebbles,
Fishing pools for giant eggs of pink and grey.
And from the songs he softly sings
I guess he also feels this way.


(c) A Mc N