The Stream Crossing

The path reaches the stream after a bend between the ferns.

I haven’t come this way for a while, but the stone is still where it has always been, moss-covered on one side and smooth enough on top to make a reasonably comfortable seat.

Reasonably is important. The stone has never made promises.

I set down my things, brushed away two damp leaves, and sat.

My boots had already found the mud at the water’s edge. They are very efficient when given the wrong sort of task.

I opened the flask and poured some tea.

The stream was shallow and clear enough to see the rounded stones beneath it. Water slid over the smaller ones and divided around the larger ones, making little seams of light that kept changing.

A few fallen leaves had gathered against an exposed root. They trembled there whenever the current pressed past them, then settled again.

Between two broad rocks, the stream made a lower sound.

I listened to it for a while.

Then to the softer water near the bank.

Then back to the narrow place, which seemed to be taking its part very seriously.

The tea stayed warm in the flask. The moss beside me was cool beneath my fingers. One of my boot heels sank slightly deeper into the mud, but by then it seemed impolite to interrupt anything.

A yellow leaf caught in a small eddy, turned slowly beside a stone, then slipped into the current.