On the trail that we call Streaming Media Trail,
(although that is not its real name)
the grass was a fresh new green,
and the sound of the brook had emerged from the ice and snow.
I thought about New Hampshire.
I could almost hear the grass growing,
the fields turning green,
and once again I was a child,
running through the mud on the path to the top of the hill,
coming home with mud on my boots.
Muddy tracks on the kitchen floor.
Adult voices: "Don't step on the rug."
___________
|