My soul once flowed
like a pristine mountain stream;
pebbles, trout, crawdads
clear beneath the surface.
With time it wandered down
farms, factories, and old cities;
churning mud, sewage, and waste
into a sallow brown of murk.
She is still flowing, but sluggish now,
clogged with old tires, Walmart bags,
and rusty old washing machines.
Yet I gurgle toward some vast blue-green
memory.
The above photo is of Sand Creek in Newton, KS.
