He had set up his tent,
beside a stream.
He had never had a surprise guest,
except for another lone fisherman,
who had stopped by,
However, that did not keep him,
from imagining a bear,
coming around a bend,
in the stream.
So he fished with one eye on the stream,
another one on the brush alongside,
and his third eye enjoying his surroundings.
Amazed at the potholes,
that gravel could make,
in the bedrock that formed,
the stream bed.
Amazed at the variation,
of size and color,
of the pebbles and stones in the streambed.
Amazed at the clarity of the water,
yet dark from tannic acid,
in its depths,
but always clear in the shallows.
Amazed at the soothing cure,
of the silent forest,
the gurgling stream,
and how it always washed away,
© Copy written for what I will never know.