Words by Natti Russell

Sometimes if you listen to the leaves,
rustling in the trees,
they sound like
babbling brooks,
silking through soil and rock,
before it begins its downward spiral
a pilgramage to reconnect with the sea.

A mass larger than land.
Drip and patter.

Currents that erode and form,
sculpting this visionary beauty
meandering, leaving voids of space
that take our breath from our lungs.

Out of estuaries finally those droplets
of many are free to dance
in space and depth,
currents of movement reflect on surfaces.

Do we leave a wake in the air like a windswept leaf skimming across a lake?

Some thoughts...

silking through soil and rock. drip and patter. light and adaptable. minimal and reborn.

overgrowth hinders the stream a battle for space and movement face to face water and reed water stills as reeds sway swiftly in the wind a place to wade.

tides of salt and sand leave markers of where we have been before. reforming and sketching in the land growing in numbers and widening as it speeds on with its pilgrimage.