The Little Giving Stream

I've decided that I want to share a story that I have been working on.  Before I do, there are a few things you need to know.  First, this piece was inspired by my amazing grandfather who passed away some years ago.  I miss him. He was such an incredible and giving man.  He was the one I looked up to as a child and gave me a solid example to compare all other men to. His favorite song that I would hear him singing at the most random of times, was a primary song called Give Said the Little Stream. I find myself singing it to my children as I rock them to sleep. It makes me think of him every time.   Did I mention that I miss him?  As I was singing my baby boy to sleep one night, with this song, this story came to me and I had to write it down.

So first, I want you to remember that it is a sentimental piece, at least for me.  Second, you need to know, that it will most likely never see the presses of a publishing house.  It is longer than what publishers are wanting right now by about 46 words.  You may not think that 46 words are that big of deal, but let me assure you that they are. I've had this piece in for critique with a group I participate in and was told that it lacks a hook, which publishers want.  I actually agree, it does not have a strong hook, but it is a sweet story. I will actually revise it (I've already started) and it will resemble nothing of the original story except that it will be about a stream.  Such is the world of writing.  So, before my grandfather is lost from this story completely I thought I would share it here with you.

Confession: I feel this story is special, but the truth of the matter is, I'm probably the only one.  Trust me when I say that I am completely okay with that.  Some stories are just meant for the heart.  If however you like it, love it, find it to be sweet, or would ever see yourself buying a book like this, then please feel free to share it.

M

The Little Giving Stream

by

M.J. Thompson

Once there was a small stream that flowed through a grassy meadow.

It was a happy little stream.  It would sing the day away as it ran down the sloping hillside.

The stream was also a giving stream.  Nothing made it happier than sharing its water with the grasses that grew along its banks and the trees and flowers that bloomed nearby.

The stream loved to laugh and play with the little fish that swam in its currents and tickled its waters with the swishing of their fins.  

Its favorite time was when the sun's rays were shining down upon it, making it sparkle as if it had diamonds hiding in its banks.  

It loved the rain too though, for when it would rain the stream could stretch out its waters up over the banks and it could run just a little bit faster.  

One sunny day the stream heard an unusual sound.  It was laughter.  Children's laughter.

It was a sound the stream had always longed to hear.  It was a beautiful, happy noise.

Pretty soon a little family with three children walked over a knoll and laid a blanket along its edge.

There was a lovely mother, a tall father, a delightful girl, a rambunctious boy, and a timid little boy.

The stream was thrilled when the children came to splash around, tromping, stomping, and wiggling their toes against the slippery rocks hidden under its surface.

All of a sudden, the little boy slipped on a jagged rock and fell into the cold water, cutting his foot and letting out a loud cry.

The stream knew the boy must be hurt, for he saw the red swirls in the water that followed him as he hobbled out onto the bank.  

The stream watched the boy sob into his mother's arms.  She cuddled him to her, swaying back and forth, kissing his forehead until his sobs quieted down to whimpers.

The stream wished it could help.  It felt sad that the rocks within its waters had caused such pain, especially to the timid little boy.

It watched as the delightful girl, picked some flowers and brought them to the little boy.  The boy gave a shy smile and whimpered a little less.  

The stream watched as the rambunctious boy caught a grasshopper and brought it over to the little boy, who squealed in delight as it jumped onto his leg and then off again into the field.

With the timid little boy happy once again, the mother bandaged his foot, packed up their blanket and the little family wandered back over the knoll.  The sound of their laughter drifting away on the breeze.  

The stream was sad to see them go.  It felt disappointed that it had been unable to help the little boy feel happy again.

Then, it had an idea.  It may not have been able to help the little boy today, but it could speed up its currents around jagged rocks; it could make sharp edges smooth.  No one would ever get hurt on the rocks in its waters again.  

So that is what it did, and from that time on, the little stream made sure that all the rocks within its waters were the smoothest nicest rocks that could be found.