Mountain Song

By: Cassandra Green

Photo Cred: Kayla Morrill

She sat down at the edge of the stream. Cold mountain water rushed and pooled in natural, sporadic energy, like syncopating verses colliding and surging to every space that accepted their fill. To her, nature was the beginning of sound and symphony, of masterpiece and collection. She closed her eyes to breathe in the sweet trickling rush of sound and inspiration. Sound and story being crafted into sand and stone, not barriers to the water, but lapping patterns, encouraging movement, daring beginnings of tiny white tides.

With her eyes closed it felt like the water pooled around her. It never came, never left, just stayed and filled her ears with encounter. Filled her soul with excitement, like a current of electricity straight to her creativity. Awakening strands of hope, kindling the edges of dry impossible things becoming possible. Soothing dry thoughts with recollection, like watering a parched wisteria and asking it kindly to drink its fill. She felt youthful whims returning, a spark to not settle, but follow the path. Walk along the current. Accept the breeze as part of the rhythm and align her steps. 

She opened her eyes. The water returned back to its boundaries within its furrowed path. But she still felt its song like an inflection within her soul. An aria to stir and satiate her need for something more. More than a simple walk, instead an adventure, a revelation and a gift to take home. A moment to redefine mundane as lyrical, poetic and necessary. A reminder that song comes from what is already there and story never stops being told unless the voice stops telling it.