There was a glass reflection
of sky and overhanging branches
as we passaged down river,
slipping through calm water;
an excursion through nature’s lyrics.
Each wide corner revealed another
portrait in perfect color;
small gatherings of birds swept
silently above.
There was a balance. A quiet
tempest of greatness. An
undercurrent of power not seen.
A language of deep motion with
ancient voices.
The potential unlimited.
Roger Singer 