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Friday, April 15, 2005 at 6:16 PM

The Stream.

The thermometer outside my window (one of the seven I inherited when I moved into this house) reads 52 degrees. It's cool enough to need a jacket, but not too uncomfortable to sit still for awhile. Spent some time sitting by the small stream that runs through the backyard, contemplating the ripples, the slime at the bottom, the new green pushing up along the banks, getting the occasional whiff of the wild onion that makes up part of that green, and all the different bird songs...It could barely be called a stream; it's usually dried up by summer, unless the farmers decide to engorge it letting water in from the canal so they can irrigate the fields adjacent to the stream. Most of it is barely deep enough for minnows, though I have spotted some in the past in some deep sections. I am always amazed at how they get there when some years it dries out entirely. Perhaps there is some pool underneath the nearby concrete bridge which never dries up. It is also the home of water skeeters, tiny snails, and frogs, who are not too keen on being seen. I imagine that watching running water, even in this less-than-poetic landscape, this puny little excuse for a stream, is a good habit. Watching a river did wonders for the Buddha.

By adriennelibrarian at 6:16 PM

Blogger Shaw Israel Izikson said...

When I was in rural Maine, we had a stream that was running right parallel to our house.

I enjoyed falling asleep to the peaceful solitude of water running everywhere. Much better than falling asleep to a bunch of very bright street lights outside my window, which still shine through despite all the curtains I put up.  


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