Babbling Brook

It was a Saturday and I was in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July.  Celebrations would be held later in the day with all of the politicians out kissing babies and making speeches, but this was my quiet time.  It was peaceful here by the babbling brook, this was a place where I was able to rest and just listen to the sounds of nature.  This brook contained pure cold water because it was running down from the mountainside.  It was absolutely beautiful here and I enjoyed watching the brook rise and descend, as water flowed past hills and eventually disappeared under that bridge.  The brook was now swollen with the spring rains and melted snow was in its waters.  As I sit here, I hear this natural music as it rushes down the hills, singing as its swirling water is chattering and babbling as it dashes against the gravel of the stream bed producing almost musical notes.  The brook wanders through land that is cultivated and land that is wild and natural.  It encounters fish, foamy bubbles, and flowers before it eventually slows and ends up in a river.

Inspired by Alfred Lord Tennyson’s 1830 poem The Brook and the 1973 song by Chicago ‘Saturday In The Park’.

Written for Sue Vincent’s July 4, 2019 Thursday Photo Prompt – Span.

15 thoughts on “Babbling Brook

      1. You’re welcome. I have to thank you also, as your post inspired me to go take a look at Tennyson. I *just* finished reading a long biography on him at the Poetry Foundation, along with a few of his poems (not The Brook though, which was what I was looking for!)

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I come from haunts of coot and hern,
        I make a sudden sally,
        And sparkle out among the fern,
        To bicker down a valley.

        By thirty hills I hurry down,
        Or slip between the ridges,
        By twenty thorps, a little town,
        And half a hundred bridges.

        Till last by Philip’s farm I flow
        To join the brimming river,
        For men may come and men may go,
        But I go on forever.

        I chatter over stony ways,
        In little sharps and trebles,
        I bubble into eddying bays,
        I babble on the pebbles.

        With many a curve my banks I fret
        by many a field and fallow,
        And many a fairy foreland set
        With willow-weed and mallow.

        I chatter, chatter, as I flow
        To join the brimming river,
        For men may come and men may go,
        But I go on forever.

        I wind about, and in and out,
        with here a blossom sailing,
        And here and there a lusty trout,
        And here and there a grayling,

        And here and there a foamy flake
        Upon me, as I travel
        With many a silver water-break
        Above the golden gravel,

        And draw them all along, and flow
        To join the brimming river,
        For men may come and men may go,
        But I go on forever.

        I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
        I slide by hazel covers;
        I move the sweet forget-me-nots
        That grow for happy lovers.

        I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
        Among my skimming swallows;
        I make the netted sunbeam dance
        Against my sandy shallows.

        I murmur under moon and stars
        In brambly wildernesses;
        I linger by my shingly bars;
        I loiter round my cresses;

        And out again I curve and flow
        To join the brimming river,
        For men may come and men may go,
        But I go on forever.

        Liked by 2 people

Leave a Reply to Peter's pondering Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s