Waterfalling

It's been very very wet of late in our little corner of the world.
The ground shines it's saturation, unannounced streams spring forth everywhere, once babbling brooks now run fast, hissing, heavy and full of doubt.
Paths usually forded now require a far surer footing, happy hops swapped for longer leaps, the beaten track now a drowned trod.

But

There's a mindful sense of the world to be tangibly found, the song of the water as it tumbles its passing, profoundly alive and of the now, each moment gone to make the next, tiny white horses racing on to the sea.

I sat à long while wrapped up warm just trying to empty my mind into the stream. It seemed as good a place to be as any, as wise à use of my time as most.

And yes, I needed a break from the car-crash fascination of watching our parliament play it's petty games, far far too many with a sense of self rather than service, of I rather than us.