Water laughs over stones and carries a silver bell in its eddy. Leafy cups the bell and listens. The bell holds a memory of hurried wings and a skipped heartbeat. 

Max dips low and grins. That is mine. The pouch cords used to hold that bell. Leafy ties the bell to a reed so it can shine and still be safe. The brook reflects two faces. 

One calm and one bold. Both needed. Downstream the water slows near a stepping log. Upstream a mist curls like a secret. A deer path rises toward a bright patch of sky.