by: Helen Stubbs
We each have a drop of rain
That falls to Earth on a given day.
Some fall on the ground
And slide between rocks
And hide themselves away.
Yours did not.
Yours fell into a stream that raced down the mountainside,
Bouncing with energy,
Twinkling with laughter,
Leaping from rock to rock
And from place to place.
Then, as streams do, its pace slowed
As it grew to a river.
Your river was graceful, gentle and clear.
A happy meander that belied a sense of purpose.
It touched the lives of many that it passed,
Gave them pause for thought and cause for joy.
Yours was a river
Whose level was constant,
Whose force was discreet,
And whose current was strong.
It carried within it an accumulation of tales,
Stories of adventure, places seen and things done,
Never losing the playfulness of the stream it had been.
Now that your river has ebbed into the sea,
Those tales will spread out across the oceans,
Borne by the waves to distant lands,
As you once were.
Much love, see you tomorrow,
Ode To Andy Sundberg
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