Cool. Bubbling fast. But calm. Graceful. Shimmering glass, alive with light and movement. Each stone a leaping point, disturbing the flow and shaping it anew.
Ever-changing. No moment like the one before, and a new face every time the shadows blink.
An embrace like thick wind and gentle ice. It steals, it holds, it encourages to float. Such a fickle thing, water is. A leaf riding currents upstream suddenly ejected onto a bank of mud and worn pebbles later on.
Creatures come and go, leaving ripples of their kisses, soon swept away. Only the fish ever stay. Not even them. Winged beasts soaring high above, mere silhouettes above the canopy, always out of reach.
The willows are the favoured friends. Demurely reaching for the surface, so shy as they inch ever closer in their desire to be near. A lovely curtain of green to filter the harsh sunlight. It is pleasing to play amongst their roots, sheltering little frogs and insects from the more demanding whims of the path.
The mood shifts quickly. A soothing meander becomes raging panic, before mellowing into something that might be mistaken for sleep. Another broken craft drifts by, sundered upon the teeth and pining for the ocean.
The sun sets, and the stars appear. Bright, buzzing, whirling over the surface in a beautiful dance of lights. A private show.