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.