The sky of white clouds peppered the pebbles
On the walk, with shadows over the orange and
brown leaves,

Fallen by the wind, muffled by the icy stream

That darted and dashed in its run

To the river, stopping only once to pause,

Briefly at a pond to momentarily watch.

A doe, velvet brown, lowered head to the flow, ears twitching in watch,

Her fawn in the brush, speckled like gold and black pebbles

At her hidden signal, jumps to the cool liquid without thought of safety’s pause,

His black button nose tickled by floating boats of leaves,

Wind swept and floated down to float again where the currents run,

Passing drinking robins, sleeping ducks, to exit with the returning stream.

The sun melts remaining thin strips of ice on the speeding stream

Moving quickly now by banks where awakened bears watch

For the stray fish, dashing in on a splashing, feeding run

Before rocks grab at the rushing flow, once ignored by placid pebbles

While on the surface, bouncing and tossed about, the leaves

Are thrown to the shore, to be gathered again in a turbulence without pause.

Boiling and tossed in wisps of spray, it rushes without pause,

No longer the placid watering place of fawns, the maddened stream,

Unheeding the sudden loss of bank, leaps into a sky of floating leaves

To fall from its pastoral path, with foaming, descending roar under eagle’s watch.

And land in a mist of its endings, lifting rocks and pebbles

Pushing beyond to join the river flow, the stream continues its run.

Its own identity slowly fading in the river current’s run,

The flow continues, without its former grace; its force not allowing a pause

To gather leaves, and caress beds of speckled pebbles;

Now it carries people and boats, where, once on the back of a stream,

Below a narrow sky, bordered by branches, a few clouds would watch

In their reflection, little serrated edged boats of red, yellow and brown leaves.

Still, in distant platoons, riding the edge, armadas of leaves

Hope to make shore on the slower current’s run,

While the stream, held by its own current of dreams, under the wide sky’s watch,

Flows toward a wide expanse of water and sky without pause,

Feeling the freedom at least of a borderless path, the stream

Begins to feel the brush on its bottom of sandy pebbles…

Sandy pebbles, in eternal movement at the end of the river’s run;

Salty waters, to big for falling sky boats of leaves, never able to pause;

Is the dream that swallows the stream from mountain high, while white clouds watch.