A mountain stream knows that
sometimes,
It must go under the earth,
Travelling through rather than over,
if the veins of nature
Flowing into the sandstone,
granite and soil,
Are to bring life’s gift,
To a world that is waiting and thirsty,
The stream is always on a downward path,
Flowing,
Even when I don’t see it,
Seeking the way that brings life,
Waiting for the right moment
to surface, so the world can drink deeply,
Knowing that drawing breath too soon,
Will waste the life,
held in its flow.
To understand a stream,
I walk in and beside it,
Seeing,
What flows underneath the earth,
As well as above,
Knowing,
That here,
More is happening below,
Than what flows briefly above,
When I wait thirstily with my desires,
A whisper from eternity, or grace, or hope,
Wanting to drink deeply from nature’s source,
I see the life bordering its flow,
Green shoulders protecting the way,
Of this torturous underground path,
Understanding,
Death from evaporation is depletion,
That slowly draws nourishment,
Dying from too much light,
Coming to the surface,
Too soon, Death from,
Not enough patience.