December 10, 2023
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Special Corner - Wayne's Writings and Poems But A sprout November 30, 2012

But a sprout I am
It was second day of fishing while sitting on the shore. A sparkling ruby caught my eye from a granite rock. I picked away with a little Knife till it broke free and fell into my hand. Close examining told me it was fractured by the pressure of the frost, but still maintained it presence as a garnet fit for me.
Far from fishing my thoughts are. They connect to where I sit and wai...

t. There was news for me in the little stream, held so many secrets now unseen. Its bottom was a class in living. For all that seems dead and at the bottom of the stream, indeed is really living.
This bubbling brook when listened to intensely sends words to our ears as fillers to other sweet music. It is very much alive with each bubble exclaiming life everlasting. My eyes came close to the sand and silt bottom of this patch of stream so to reveal architecture. Small stones and sticks it seemed to make a triangular house. They were stuck together by some unseen glue by an unknown resident. The structure was able to move and less than an inch in length and maybe a quarter inch in its triangular shape.
This is a sprout on the bottom of the stream. Like I am but a sprout sitting on the earth.

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