A Bathing Song

It is a normal day.

Yes there are icicles on branches.

But, the water is flowing.

Clean water cascading down Balch Gulch.

A milky silky tumble over smooth rocks every twenty feet.

In a valley where the sun does not hit the bottom.

Where there are ferns aplenty 

And unsalvaged dead logs criss-crossing the stream.

Rotting into mushrooms and insects.

For me to feed.

Hillsides being restored by the City of Portland with native plants.

Signs telling literate biped apes to keep away.

Passing by the Audubon Sanctuary where there is a feeder for my winged companions.

I do not care for the cascades.
Or for the noisy pack of the varied thrushes.
I like my spot above the tumble.
Water clean and clear.
A small pool with water neither too still nor swift.
For me to douse the louse.