It was a glorious summer morning –
Dew coated the grass in a sheen of diamonds,
The rising sun set the sky afire.
I sat on the bank of the river, listening to the stories it told.
It hissed stories of its history, of our history, and tales of love and woe.
As it spoke, I closed my eyes,
Painting pictures in my head.
I followed along eagerly, hanging on its every word,
Floating in space,
Carried by the stream.
Above the dun of the water’s voice, the hum of traffic hung in the air.
The day had begun.
Stories told, stories heard.
There will be more tales on other days…
Time to lay my head down to sleep.
And to dream.