Posted by: The Malt House | October 29, 2010


Bubbling brooks fill and chuckle as they wander down the hill. Brook meets brook, and stream meets stream and soon a river flows. It cuts the land and hand in hand, with gravity toward the sea it goes. No stones or trees will stop its course, nor rocky ravine squeeze. It finds the drop and without a stop it leaps into the air; then splits and falls in raindrop balls until it meets the ground. With thunderous roar it joins once more, in crystal pool to compose. Then on it glides through river sides, its journey to complete.

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