Sundays Along Wissahickon Creek

Useless to think you can capture it,

how the sun spins the trees, their naked

truth and steadfast hope, into pillars

of breathable light,

how the vaulted sky commands

the arch of your neck, thirst

in your eyes, waltz

of forgotten wild dreams

and how the creek surges, then sighs

the geese arrow across the cool grass,

the day stretches, long

and slow, cracked door

in a languid heart

begging the feet

to go on.

5 thoughts on “Sundays Along Wissahickon Creek”

Oh, Naila. Thank you for painting a picture with words.

Gorgeous Gaia – you AND The Mother!

So beautifully captures the magic of Mother Nature, and the Wissahickon. So miss living close to that beauty.

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