The Spring

There used to be a flowing spring in our woods. My father grew up with it, and later in his life he returned with his wife and four daughters to live where his father had homesteaded. I remember that spring. It was crystal clear, burbling, and a secret place where little girls played in the cool, green woods. Then we had to move away from those woods and the spring. Bulldozers came in, cleared the land, and put in a parking lot. Years have gone by and now a city park exists where the cars used to park. But there is no spring. The water was diverted to pipes and taken away from where it would prefer to flow.