Past the pond
past the boats and fishermen
mindlessly casting their lines,
past the graveyard
of Elam and Shelley
long forgotten and
faded past knowing,
the path turns uphill
and follows the creek bed,
patches of green,
a cluster of ferns,
the land swollen up
with boulders
jutting their faces out
from the hillside,
past the ice music
the crystal chimes moving
the clear water sings
unbroken abandon.

by Kelly Waterbury