-This poem reflects on creek water as one of summer’s quiet mercies, offering coolness, motion, and a place of calm within the heat.
Over stone and root it moves,
clear through shade and broken light,
a small cold language in the heat,
that summer speaks close to the earth.
The banks lean green above its flow,
grass and fern along the edge,
while under every passing branch,
the water keeps its silver thought.
A hand lowered into that chill,
finds more than coolness in the run,
it finds the day made brief and bright,
a pause held open in the sun.
So much of summer lives like this,
not only in blaze, but in relief,
where motion, shadow, and clear sound,
make stillness possible again.