A short walk along the Arkansas River in central Colorado, a seat on a boulder at the water’s edge. Meditation. & Poetry, unpolished. A flow I call poetic notings from time spent in nature come to mind, and I listen:

The water at the river’s edge expands and contracts, inhales and exhales among the small boulders and the rocks that fill in the gaps of the shore

Gently, quietly, away from the raucous flow of the spring morning, where the depths and riffles are capped in white and echo their urgency up and down the canyon

The sun breaks through the clouds and recedes again

Gently, quietly, to the side of the rush. Water wets the sand and kisses the rocks. And that’s where I sit with the cool and calm, expanding and contracting, inhaling and exhaling, allowing the news of the day coming down from winter’s peaks to pass by

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