By DOROTHEA NORDSTRAND

There's a brooklet that winds through my meadow, flowing peacefully, calmly and slow,
And it mutters and whispers and ambles as though it has no place to go.

It slips softly over the pebbles that shine through the shallows ahead.
It murmurs so sweetly and gently ... like a prayer before going to bed.

It has come to the end of its journey and now finds contentment so deep.
It will soon disappear into nothing, like a tired soul drifting to sleep.

* * *

It started life high in the mountains as a droplet of pure, melted snow.
It dripped from the lip of a petal and splashed on a rock just below.

It joined, then, with dozens of others, all finding their way down the hill.
To a flower-starred, high mountain meadow. Together, creating a rill.

As Springtime advanced into Summer their numbers continued to grow.
They splashed over fern-covered hillsides and joined in a place far below.

They ran into flower-fringed hollows where marmots and deer drink and play.
They rested a while, but were restless and anxious to go on their way.

They joined other small streamlets flowing and soon were in brawling, swift flight.
Then, stream joined to stream, then, to torrent. They swept all ahead in their flight.

They plunged over lofty rock ledges to fall in a thundering wall.
They skirmished with homecoming salmon through whirlpool and cascade and fall.

They battled their way through the mountains. They'd quarrel and jostle and race
'Til they got just too weary of conflict and must seek for a calm, quiet place.

They joined in a broad, flowing river. Their roistering days were no more.
Some droplets would flow to the ocean and mingle with salt at the shore.

But, some would be searching for haven and they'll find their way to my brook.
To amble and mutter and whisper about the wild ride that they took.

Then, they'll slip softly over the pebbles that shine through the shallows ahead.
They'll murmur so sweetly and gently, like a prayer before going to bed.

And, here, at the end of their journey, they'll find a contentment so deep.
They will soon disappear into nothing ... Like a tired soul drifting to sleep.

Dorothea Nordstrand is a Green Lake resident.