The mountains empty in the fall, in the spring.

Snow melt and fall rains swell the creeks that feed the rivers that rise the water

Up over the landscape.

You can see the flood marks on the trees,

Carved into the gravel and banks.

When the water recedes,

The sculptures are left in its wake.

Savaged and sculpted branches melded with rocks and uprooted trees-

Contortions never possible while living.

(A dead moose trapped under the bridge, its bones full of hiding fish.)

On higher land,

The scale is smaller,

But the effect is similar.

Those unmaintained marks of humanity and drainage,

Grow over in thick moss and mushrooms,

Soon to be battered once again,

By the passage of indifferent storms.

IMG_0233The only constant is destruction… and regrowth.

Water is a powerful force both in its presence and in its absence.

For more cyclical forces, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.



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