I am sorry for this little stream,
its banks straightened and cemented.
Graffiti decorates the culverts,
and it’s dotted with plastic bags and bottles.
But trees still grow and shelter,
dappling with shadow,
ducks and dragonflies dally,
birds swoop and the wild creatures come to drink.
Now in fall, yellow leaves sail on its dark surface,
it’s still a place that delights.
This little stream retains its beauty
even after we’ve abused it.
We turn our backs on it, and yet it flows,
gurgling and burbling, bustling its way
beyond our banks, its waters slipping through rivers
and lakes and rivers and down to the sea.
You know this stream from its beginnings,
carved by glaciers, fed by springs a mile deep.
You remember when human eyes first saw it,
when people drank from it, and hunted near it.
You imagine a beautiful future for your stream.
My prayer today is one of repentance for deeds done
and a deep desire for a lesson falling down on us like rain.
Living Water, teach us that water is life.