Ferns lean over the bank, waving at
water striders flitting on the deepest pool,
where ripples steady to nothing more
than a glare of sun on the surface.
I squat at the edge, looking upstream
watching the braided current weave
against chiseled rocks pouring
layers over layers in a steady rhythm
toward me, toward the water striders,
its gentle churning mixing with
birdsong and breeze and occasional
rolling thunder from the distance.
A pause amid chaos, peace before
the torrent we all know is coming.