Larry E. Whittington; Writer, Author

Your source for short articles, poems and stories. Crituques also given on short articles

Personal Information:
This is a home based activity that specializes in producing written materials for sale as well as quality polished gemstones for the jeweler and rock hobby.

That Place

As I stood in the shade beneath a cottonweed tree, whose age I could have only guessed, my eye sight traveled to the ground on which I was standing. It was bare of any grass - hard and dry. The trunk of the mighty cottonwood, where it sank its roots into the rich black soil was right at the water�s edge. Some of its roots had been, in the past, uncovered from their bed in the cool soil by the once swift moving current of the stream. Now the cool, clear, green water of the stream is quietly flowing along seeming not to care where it is going or when it will get there.

As I follow a leaf floating along on the surface of the water downstream, I notice that the stream narrows from its few yards in width to a few feet as it flows in ripples over pebbles and small stepping stones. The rippling sound I can only faintly hear because of the murmuring of the leaves on the cottonwood above me. This murmuring is being caused by the cool, sweetly scented breeze that is stirring the leaves into a restless state.

On the banks by the little ripple in the stream and on downstream there is an abundance of wild grasses with wild flowers spotted here and there. Some of these, the blue colored ones, are violets. The others are just yellow and white flowers. The grasses among which these flowers are living have different shades of green. Some those of a darker green, are short and are in little patches. The kinds that are a little lighter are taller and would reach your knees if they were not all bent over. These are located in small clumps scattered about on both banks.

Farther up on the banks are a variety of large and small trees. The larger ones are arching across the stream to shake hands with the tips of the trees reaching over from the other side. The arch of tree branches and leaves shade the stream and its banks but occasionally the sun sends its beams of warm light through so it makes patches of light on the grass below. Farther down from the ripple in the stream, the course of the stream changed. I can see nothing of it beyond that point.

Now, as the breeze moves the leaves above me to let a beam of bright sunlight through to me, I look up. The sun is a large shinning white ball, dimming the deep blue that is all around it, to a very light blue just next to it. There are only a few big white clouds in the sky. These would remind you of maybe cream whipped fluffy and scattered about on a blue platter in odd shaped piles.