Saturday, January 11, 2014

Winter Stream

Morning sun sends streaks of rays
     to nurture icy creeks;
they turn to stars in rippled waves
     that devour sparkling treats;

A nourishing celestial meal
     quenched by melting snow,
sustains small life which you conceal
     in relentless hurried flow;

I softly step your frozen shore
     and peer through water's sheen;
some shiners dance your sandy floor
     which currents have swept clean;

A chilly breeze whose presence known
     by brushstrokes on your surface,
has scripted a concentric poem
     upon your glossy canvas;

The wind yields silence through your trees,
     no leaves to sing its rapture;
it wanders upstream aimlessly,
     leaving but a whisper;

Then finds on perch a great-horned owl
     to walnut branch it clings,
and relentlessly starts teasing now
     until the bird takes wing;

And suddenly this quiet grace
     erupts in noisy chorus,
a flock of crows gives raucous chase
     this sentinel of your forest;

The valley's blessed by peace once more
     as intrusion slowly fades;
Chickadees show a grand support
     by calling out their names;

Did you see the drama in your depths
     or taste the frosted snow?
Did you feel the cold wind to your breast
     or hear the birds' fine prose?

It matters not, I sense inside,
     if winter streams don't know,
the special treasures they provide
     these pleasures to my soul. 


  1. Nicely done, Ken. I can see the water and hear it and feel the cold air and the cickadees are right above my head... Thanks for sharing this poem.

    1. Thanks Roy. I pulled this one from the files to match up with some recent photos. I was quite surprised to see it was dated about 25 years ago!