An Old Friend

It sits at the top of the deep creek bed
Huge and formidable, un-moveable,
It sits here as it has sat for centuries
Was it brought down by some prehistoric landslide?
Or maybe a 1000 year flood?
I wonder how it tumbled to this perfect place.

I put my hands upon it and climb,
pulling myself up its lichen-covered surface,
eager to see the view of the creek below.
Hidden from the world, 
I delight in my aloneness.
My own private clubhouse of sorts.
A place to wonder, brood, and delight.
I sit unnoticed to the people on the path below.

My love and I held each other here, long ago,
on many a carefree afternoon.
The boulder shared our intimacy;
Our own little world under the branches.
This rock and I know each other well.
I wonder how many others have found its upper realms,
listened to the music of the babbling creek,
and observed the world pass by below….

Cold hard granite
has never felt so welcoming.

 

boulder

flower creek

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