Crossing the stream

I can see, he said. What? I asked…

Look, I can see, can you? he said. What? I asked again, trying to see what he saw.

That’s exactly what I saw, he smiled.

Sometimes, his sight failed me. All I saw was nothing.

Down by the stream, where water glistened in the sun, cool and refreshing, a frog sat on the wet rock looking into the wilderness. I could only think of a snake nearby, looking at the frog, the food, a prey…

Where have all the fishes gone? I thought.

What does it matter? he said…what? He heard me?

This place has no night, he smiled. Nor the day, I thought and smiled.

The frog was gone. Only the wet stone remained, oiled by the stream, flowing down the valleys filled with ferns and dreams.

Should we enter the stream? he asked and was gone.

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One Comment on “Crossing the stream”

  1. (S)wine Says:

    Thanks for stopping by and reading. I like this entry.


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