An unbridged stream broke the foot-trail, 
so we unzipped our backpack and shook 
lemon chicken soup into mugs.  Crashed
on the bank.  Over the dull slosh of molars
trudging through rice, a song from Relaxation
in Nature trickled up to us, and Haley said, 
“Ah, the pleasant sound of resistance.”

Bayonets of water charged over an oak limb
that threatened to alter the course, pile droplets
on top of each other like heads severed
randomly.  The stream yanked pebbles along
before they could pin it, suffocate it between
their hard backs and the rough, sand bed below.

The violence of it calmed me, and made me want
to walk straight into the next hiker who passed 
just to hear his song as he shoved over me,
the semi-shocked humming.  I wanted to turn 
southbound into a northbound lane, so all 
the onlookers could feel serenity crawl through
their cheeks and scrape their eyes, leaving a glaze.