A trickle,
blocked by a large stone,
algae coats the surface,
organisms leach and
breed in the pugnant
green water.
an abomination,
trapped, unable to flow,
futile attempts to free itself
as the stone looks on impassively,
a barrier, rash in believing itself a god,
the algae and insects
it’s subjects, static, unchanging.
The rot gathers,no current
to cleanse itself,
tortured by it’s own situation
till it surrenders to the stone
and gives itself away.
Sinking into it’s own reality,
unable to subside into the earth,
forever a pool of stagnant water.

fall comes and the world
catches fire,
orange, yellows, reds.
this is a cool fire,
and it burns away
the larvae
the insects,
the bugs.
And the rock’s kingdom
becomes clear,
crystalline,
loosing it’s armor,
and the brook thrashes.

The rock cannot believe it,
but he has seen,
his reign coming to an end,
and he fears the brook.

Winter comes
and the brook freezes,
expanding,
Growing,

and it pushes the rock.
Striving for movement,
to rejoin the stream
and all,
life,
freezes.
And the snow gathers on the mount.

A bird chirps,
first since the last robin,
and the snow melts
filling the stream.
The brook surges.,
The cycle renewed,
and the stone falls,
the brook
gurgleling with joy
as it rejoins the stream.