Backwoods Creek

I flow down the tributary,

splash and meander until I reach my quiet retreat.

Where the poplar trees touch the sky and

river grass swims out to meet me.

Rain clouds are the roadmap to my destiny.

Slowly I drift and want to linger, where the

coffee colored trees are woven tightly together.

I touch a woodsy unforgotten glen.

Bass hide under woody debris,

while rain raps on my surface.

A frog swims swiftly through black water,

as a choir of crickets chirp loudly.

It is here in the still backwoods,

where I restore my soul.

The cycle of water consumes, and

quietly, with rain drizzling down, I renew.

Published by: Kudzu Literary Journal

Pamela Hirte