The cool of the morning filters through my lungs
And the fog masks the river,
it’s banks and rocks.
My paddle dips silently and
smoothly, swirling
The mirrored liquid beyond my
extended reach.
Birds chatter among themselves along
the branches
Ripples on the river hum their
own unique tune
And the small streams gurgle
their way into the path
Of countless other minute
waterways, now united.
Written unknown date
Revised 3-14-16