By Nicholas Metzger
The water moves ever on in the Glen flanked on both sides by walls of green cutting through the forest it calls home wearing through the dirt, shaving stone smooth still stained brown from its tree origins flowing through its narrow-hewn channels catching the glimmering light, filtering through the canopy turning the bubbling water into shining, sparkling gems faster now, gaining speed, as the hill steepens itself the volume rising, bubbling, chatting, screaming, roaring the water leaps and rolls off its stone ledge, pushing the air out of the way, giving motion to normally still air. The cool air breathing out of the white, frothing water settled now, farther down the stream’s path its lazy pace now restored, waiting for the next big fall, the water moves ever onward in the Glen.
Nicholas Metzger is from York, in south-central Pennsylvania. He is currently majoring in accounting and management, and his main interests are camping, nature, and reading. He has mostly done writing for school projects since his dyslexia often gets in the way. Lately, he has been writing poems and short stories more regularly. Armor Behind the Glass, Howling Wind