My attempt at poetry:

The moss was like a sponge soaking up the morning dew.

I was unaware of this fact until I sat on the old log resting across the stream.

My pants were soaked through as soon as I sat on its coat of thick green moss.

My bare feet rested in the cold water and my toes played in the silty bottom.

My sitting log was just one of several old trees laying next to each other wrapped in there living coats of green.

A maple leaf boat floats slowly down the river bumping into my legs briefly before continuing down stream.

It tumbles over the waterfall and capsizes.

It gets swept up in the circular currents before slowly sinking to the bottom of the river.

The bed is filled with brown broken ships, brown rocks, brown dirt and brown branches.

The entire thing is a strip of dull brown with quick clear water moving over it.

I look between my legs at one of the only splashes of color in the river: a red solo cup.

Why is the only vibrant thing in this river man-made?

I pick the cup up and walk away.

My walking path through the woods:

There was a lot of change to my site since my last visit. We have been getting a lot of rainfall and the water level of the stream has increased significantly. The tall brush in the field has died off and it is much more open walking through it. The trees are losing their leaves and the entire forest is more open. I saw several fish in the stream as well as a huge frog that hopped past me. There is a lot of activity at my site.

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