Roaring, fading, the jet engine decrescendos into the churning of the ripples

Running past the slim strip of rocks,

The anti-oasis, patch of dry in wet,

Near an ancient log, a grand canoe,

Crushed by the rapids

Rotting wood, eroded by the swift current,

Each passing moment of water

Another fiber washed away

Flowing over the sand,

Stray sunlight casting streaks of gold,

Which shimmers and shimmies side to side

In a never ending ballet, looking

For shade, but never realizing

Sun gives the dancers life

Gliding under the coruscation on a pool

Glistening on the glassy surface

Refracting, reflecting

Lackadaisically drifting

until a riffle snuffs it out.