“Look how gracefully these leaves are just flowing downstream.”
I didn’t see what she meant.
She was a young mother
With her young children,
And a young man,
Perhaps the children’s father,
Perhaps her husband.
She was pointing down at the creek,
Saying this several times, until her kids
Finally looked—
“Look how gracefully these leaves
are just flowing downstream.”
After the family had moved on
I walked over
And peered into the water,
at the spot she had indicated.
Yet it seemed to me
That the leaves weren’t flowing;
They were stuck
The water was flowing—
Then, later,
I looked down
at a different stream,
and more stuck leaves—
I wondered—
The leaves appear stuck
To me
But really they are flowing,
Stuck now, in this moment,
But flowing soon, washed away soon—
What else appears stuck,
but really is flowing?
Maybe everything stuck
is really
flowing?
—Matthew Eighmy