Time seems to stand still at the stream bed.

The top of the old-growth Longleaf pine seems to disappear into a blue sky canopy. It hasn’t been disturbed by man’s whim or nature’s storms. Here in the sheltered stream bed equidistant in the half-mile stretch of gravel road between our home and the gate, it feels like time stands still. Tiny black fish dart from the natural spring through the culvert under the road and reappear on the other side, where the stream meanders and eventually joins with a fecund swamp. I’m thinking of dragging a bench or a chair into the dark heart of the dry gully adjacent to the stream bed so I can sit there, still as a mouse, and listen to owls, flying squirrels, woodpeckers and the quick splash of deer through the spring.

Thanks for stopping by. What are you writing about today?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.