Poetry - Spring

Spring

In a high mountain forest, there is a spring.
Thoughts from the earth flow upwards beneath a carpet of leaves and rotting logs.
They bubble to the surface without pause.
The spring gives freely and unselfishly, because it Is.
Beyond the reach of published trails, it flows.
The ultimate source is deep and unseen, rarely witnessed or understood.
From the earth and Universe itself.
When the season is warm, and the ground clear, it flows visibly.
Clear, pure, uncontrolled.
The sun shines on this magical source of life, warming it and giving it vitality and meaning.
In winter, it's covered in obscurity, never to be seen by anyone, yet it still flows.
It pools in muddy puddles, resting and flowing around the muck.
Sitting still, it merges with the dirt, and is absorbed back, to disappear.
Its presence unknown.
Yet, the explorer seeking discovery, the thirsty traveler, a mystic in pursuit of truth, all seek it as a source of life.
Those willing to step off the worn path, will stumble upon it, and discover it's magic.
Sweeping the leaves away, it shows itself, to nourish a thirsty mind.
Some flow into streams and rivers, all merging into the great ocean of knowledge.
Some will be pillaged, bottled, and sold, until dry. A brilliant mind destroyed.
But look to the cliffs, the forbidden lands, a lonely desert oasis.
There, where no one dares to look, is a spring, flowing silently and without pause.
Witness it if you dare to search, drink from it and respect it.
Let fate take it where it may.