Unnamed

There are very few places left unspoiled, when it comes to the mountain springs.
It seems in every place, there springs up boardwalks, trails, tourists, painters, folks who tread thoughtlessly on the things which die underfoot. There will always be a place for those who choose harmony with her and hers, but there are so few who even think of harmony in the same manner.
The balance is ever tipped in their favor.
Not one thinks to leave flowers to reseed themselves, but would rather pluck the pretty blooms and leave the plant to wither with winter - it’s just one bloom, they think to themselves. One bloom. One pebble. One Fish. Thousands tread with this mindset on a daily, not understanding the delicate balance.
Clean water. Water, full of life, filled with flashes of green as it topples over and down in a rush of white spray over rocks and small boulders, the stepping stones of the arrogant.
These too, slowly wither as she.