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Flow
Have you gazed upon the flow
and wondered where the waters go?
How many wayward wandering rills
whisper down the wistful hills?
How many meadows in the glen
where bears rear bear cubs in the den
sanctuaries in the glade
where newborn fawns rest in the shade?
How many tranquil hamlets where
woodsfolk dwell without a care
sprawling, bustling factory towns
and lonely barren wind-swept downs?
How many marvels must it see
as it rushes to the sea
and from the sea, to rise as rain
and be reborn, again and again.
Water
A poem for the West Coast of the U.S. Conservation drastic because no one thought apriori about where the water goes. I have two theories - deforestation of South America for farmland and commerce and growing cities is the cause of the natural redistribution of rain patterns. Or over-population, too many people in finite space with too many swimming pools and golf courses. In our lifetime we may see San Jose Desert, and The Great Desert of Los Angeles. Hmmm...
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West coast
I just returned from a 5-week visit to California and Nevada, and I can see what you mean, Allets. I never saw before such a dry climate, especially Nevada. We barely made it out of Santa Rosa before the town went up in smoke and those unfortunate folks died. Nice place to visit, your west coast, but I'm happy to be back home where it rains and snows.
My Secret River