The Wandering Brook
by: Rebecca Rajkowski
The placid lakes and distant shores
Lined by pine trees in the North
Were struck by turbulence and storm
And formed a little brook.
Finally the constant sound
Of water lapping o’er the ground
Instigated the profound
Inside the restless brook.
She raced away from all she’d known
To find a purpose and a home
And so with wild abandon roamed
Capriciously the brook
The chill of winter urged her on
Through the evening, towards the dawn
Until her strength was almost gone
Thus ebbed a trickling brook.
The mountains and the valleys deep
Lulled her there to rest and sleep
And so Montana tried to keep
The lovely, little brook.
The spring returned and with it brought
The memory of a distant thought
Remembering what she forgot,
Revived and wakened brook.
By melting snow and glaciers fed
She rose with triumph from the bed
And ever southward racing fled
The stream which once was brook.
Reembarking on her mission
She then made a bold decision
Listening to intuition
Followed the Chinook*.
She channeled to the desert land
And with a gentle, unseen hand
Coaxed life from the barren sand
And her own life forsook,
Languished back to brook
New life is now springing forth
Wher-ever her waters course
And when a wind blows from the north
If the wind is a Chinook*
You’ll hear the singing of the brook.
**This poem was written for my friend Brooke who was born in Michigan, befriended me in Montana, then left for New Mexico.
