Out the door and on the road, I meet the crowds again. What’s the rush? Oh yes, I know, I’m off to work with them.
Trolleys rolling, packed with people, standing, wandering, hustling by. Cars and buses, bikers, joggers, all to work they stride.
Day in and out; it’s all the same? You’d think that would be true. But no, the city’s changing, because of me and you.
My favorite route is where I go; along the bayou say they. But in the city all is different, a greenway it is today.
Up and down I bounce along, tires beating like a drum. With all the others, such a rush, not knowing what next to come.
The bayou is strong, the earth relentless, always on the move. Try their best to tame it, concrete is what they use.
So click-a-ty-clack I roll along, this road does lift aloft. A marsh it was, yes I can tell, this ground is really soft.
But as I follow this meandering road, imagining years ago. A mash of beauty once was here, where nature did flourish and grow.
With grasses, trees, birds and reptiles, fish of every sort. Today are folded on one big stream, from city out to port.
I like this route, its always changing, everything old and new. Always moving, always growing, a rush to be shared with two.
Grass and trees, cycling trails, so cool to just hang out. A place to relax and get away, for peace and tranquil naps.
Hanging moss, blooming flowers, bridges over water. Houses, buildings, lots of cranes, always reaching taller.
Cyclers, joggers, strollers, walkers, of every ethnic sort. Languages, I’ve never heard, nor understanding can I report.
Where people pass and engines roar, this road has such a pace. But down along the waters edge, is made a peaceful place.
Always different, always changing this bayou through our town. Even so I love this place, that makes my pace slow down.
So, to work I go, but how I long, the weekend in my plans. A stroll along the city bayou, my sweetheart hand in hand.
Reflections on Brays Bayou, Houston, Texas, by David Smitherman, August 8, 2008