I walked seven miles alongside 
a creek. The stream ran on and on 
over rocks. A squirrel clambered 
over roots, rustling pine needles. 
Wild roses lifted pink goblets 
to the sun, rain drops shimmering 
on fragrant petals. Nature
spared no expense. Even 
the short-tailed weasels
popped their heads playfully 
from between rocks and ran 
in circles. I did not solve 
any problems for the world, 
not even my own. 
But the stream rustled: 
“Here I am! Here I am!” 
And the bird sang: 
“Just be!”