The Creek of Barking Dogs – Collage Essay

The babbling brook, as I’m sure everyone will write, is babbling. I see a microscopic, seemingly endless expanse. It flows as I hope to do, into the distance. A leafy cloud cover, pinescrapers slashing through its softness to the god they all worship. And all the while they leach blood from below. Sediments of story travel in the blood, as it time-rips the body apart, and in so doing makes itself a home. There are only faint bursts of color.

There are only faint bursts of color – tiny displays of fireworks in an emerald city. Such extravagance is unseemly in the thick and quiet green. The buildings are tall, and strong and heavy with the weight of the babbling bustling, watery thoroughfare below – such busy arterials, full of motion and sound. It deposits its many passengers and travelers upwards – to the sky, to the light, to the lofty position of those particles elevated.

The buildings are tall, strong, and heavy. Quiet fills the air, and the drift of the babbling water is all I can hear. Green fills the overstory but brown covers the understory as the deciduous leaves die covering the forest floor. My mind and eyes turn towards the darkness filling the deciduous stand of trees brushed over the barking creek.

Trees brushed over the barking creek. One can tell water has recently flowed quickly and heavily here. There’s a sound, off in the distance, ever so faintly you can hear the symphony rise over some mossy ridge. We’re not alone here, but we are in large company. Bugs haven is everywhere, even on your sleeve.

We’re not alone here, but we are in large company. The company of trickling water and leaning trees. Trees that don’t wish the burden of their heavier branches, so they lay upon the ground and on top of the water to let things grow through and around them. No matter what this large company is green and a diverse green at that because even dead trunks and branches let moss grow on them.

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