A little road, a market stall, a row of cottages, one and all. A friendly greeting here and there, and familiar faces everywhere.

I stand at the crossroads, silent and still, Pointing to valleys, the woods, or the hill. Though I know every route, I have nowhere to go, I guide every traveler, yet nothing I know.

On two sides it's merging, the Pacific and the Atlantic. East is flat with sandy beaches, the people are frantic. The other side is rough, making tech that's really big. If you hear that this is clear, you know you won't get hit.

I’m a shape of three points, Geographically or written For where a river joins A lake, I may be sitting. I am also a widespread Symbol for change Or I am what is said To mean D in long range.

I begin where the earth lets go, A silver thread with nowhere slow. I slip through stones and whisper past, Never the same, yet always vast. I have no feet, but I wander on, Chasing the valley from dusk to dawn. I may tickle roots, reflect the sky, Or sing beneath a dragonfly. I’m not a river, though I share its way, I’m smaller, gentler, day by day. Through woods and meadows, I quietly look A winding ribbon called a...