We stop to watch from the bluff-top trail
as down on the rain-soaked sand
two children work to carve a channel
to convince water falling over nearby
rocks to snake gracefully into
rising surf. They work so hard
at what nature does all by itself—
water seeking itself, water in
conversation with other water,
which we hear walking by creekside
arteries that whisper in some places,
gurgle in others, prodded by gravity,
unimpeded by debris, hurrying
down its self-prescribed channels.
All water has a single destination—
it all becomes ocean eventually—
as do we, rushing at times,
burbling, meandering at others.
Even on a chilly, rainy day, drops
leaching from clouds onto beach,
two children delight in runoff
working its way to the sea,
water seeking water, all of it
so naturally becoming one.
Güd wrtr 
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Good morning! We’re going to get 30 millimeters of water in just two hours this morning apparently, so as I listen to the water gushing over the beaver dam I’ll be remembering you and this lovely poem.
“gurgle in others, prodded by gravity,
unimpeded by debris, hurrying
down its self-prescribed channels.”
(The beavers are like the two children in this poem… changing the natural course!)
Love the spiritual aspect of this too… the reminder that we will all eventually be joining the ocean!
xoxo
The beavers! Of course! They are like the children, perennially rechanneling, aren’t they? Thinking of you and James and Whiskey and the beavers with much love.