The water churns --
no smooth laminar flow.
Each molecule fights its way
down the mountain.
Sloshing up into evaporation, or
dragged, swirling, across
the rocky bottom.
This is no mighty, muddy river
in a gentle glide.
It's pretty chaos;
just the kind I'm used to.
a shallow stream, texture everchanging, glazes the forest floor.
icicles dangle over a rushing stream; by noon, only stream
scintillant stream, ever-shifting dance of light: seemingly random, but so seems a music box drum until one knows its tune
icicles drip into a fast flowing stream; i vow to follow
the river churns; lit by the mid-day sun -- its foam glows
Tiger Riding for Beginners 