A danger-filled race down the hill to the edge of an old creek. Water winds determinedly, A mere trickle of its former self, When spring rains brought it raging and muddy. Today the lazy stream gurgles, Catching small swirls against flat granite of the crossing. Little hands clear away fallen leaves trapped among stones. Clear cool liquid fills the openings. Quick eyes catch tiny fish in bowls of evaporating pools. Peace, Beauty, Paradise!