A day at the river.

image

More shoebox memories.

I remember this day so well . . I woke early and sat on the picnic table next to the tent we’d pitched by the campfire’s glow the night before. I just sat, watching all of God’s glory begin to stir. I spent most of that day in silent observance, I watched and I listened and I wrote throughout the day. I wrote of love, of memories, and questions often pondered.

At the end of the day I felt such peace. Tranquility washed over me as the sun set below the tree line. It was a beautiful, beautiful day.

The morning sun
brought the
flowers to bloom
along the banks
of the sleepy river.

They stretched forth
their petals
as if in praise,
while hungry bees
dined upon their
sweet nectar.

The glistening dew
that formed
in the night,
fell to the ground
for the thankful
earth to drink in.

Songbirds
sang out
in soft serenade
as they searched
the moist soil
for food
to fill the
mouths of their
hungry babes.

Diamonds danced
upon the surface
of the waters
while life below
began to stir
from slumber.

Trees swayed
in the soft
spring zephyrs
as the sun
peaked high
in the
afternoon sky.

Furry little
squirrels darted
to and fro
beneath the
shadowy shade
of the trees
they called home.

The sun then
slowly made
retreat from her
lofty place
to spread
rays of gold
elsewhere,
the trees
bowed in thanks
as the sky
grew dim.

Mama birds
flew home
to their nests
to cradle
their young
in the warmth
of their wings
while the
crickets welcomed
the moon.

Fog again settled
over the river
as the flowers
tucked themselves
in for the night.

With bellies full
the bees
nested
and the
playful squirrels
were at rest.

Once again,
dewdrops formed
as moonbeams
began their nightly
waltz atop the
once again
sleepy river.

Crystal R. Cook

*Credit for the photo above is unknown, at least to me.

 

 

 

 

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