Up the road, not far from our home, there are the remains of a Roman road.
Stones placed one by one smoothed over time.
Hundreds of years later another road was built bypassing the old one.
A river runs under the stone arched bridge.
History speaks,
Under the bridge,
Between the stones,
Running free swirling in the river.
Words like the rain, one drop after another.
Sometimes soft as a velvet morning and other times deafening as hail pounds the glistening stones.
"What did you say?"
It runs on,
As I try to catch the tail end.
So it goes running deep and wild.
Currents forming and residing.
Listening to my inner river…
It doesn't hold back.
Where does your river run?
A view of where I live.
By a Roman road.
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