Gold through the mud

There is mud
Clay-ey mud
Black clogged with last autumns fallen leaves
Rotted now
Made pitchy by winter frosts
Trodden in, mulched.

But there is a run-off from the grass
Of snow water
Sheet water
Rain water

The stream has cut a swathe through the stygian sludge
Creating a freshet of shining goldenness
Revealing gem stones hidden in the coruscating sand
A golden stream of clear water running to the lake

Contrasting gold through the mud.

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