Listen

I had plans to post more pictures from my trip to Virginia, but, have instead decided to write of other things.  Things in these photos that have stirred my heart and evoked long forgotten emotions and memories. 
 I am drawn into the singing waters of this mountain stream.  I am transported back in time.   I build dams.  I  search for living creatures under each  stone.  As I pick each stone it is examined and admired. Holding a stone in each hand I clap them together and I listen as their sound follows the creek's path, turns the bend and is heard no more.  I dream the dreams of childhood. 
I smell  dark, rich, damp and mossy soil.  I hear the rapping of a woodpecker upon a hollow tree,  the calling of birds  high above me and hidden among the shadows.   I feel the smooth wet stones in my hands. I wiggle my toes to push away the creek bed stones to reveal the soft sand and clay underneath.  I am alone and I am unafraid.
It is glorious!
 

Mountain creeks never get warm.   It is always a test of endurance and stamina to   even  contemplate plunging ones toes into the creek's flowing waters.  I must prepare myself for that first step into the shallows.  The cold stings and causes the muscles of my feet to rebel.  My toes contort into unnatural and painful positions and I want desperately to scramble to the comfort of dry warm earth.  But, I know if I endure,  shortly the water will not be so cold, nor the creek bed's stones so hard and unforgiving. 
There is that knowledge of childhood which does know the language of the stones and does  understand the chorus of the rushing water.
 For I sprang from the very spring of these waters and I desire to dwell here, within the wood forever,  or at least until dusk.  Until then I am a builder and a dreamer of dreams.

Today I pray my grandchildren will know of the earth and be the builders and dreamers of this world.