Streaming down the banks

I stand on the edge of the bridge.
My eyes fixed on the fish below.
They always seemed so small to me.
In their own little world.

My young mind wonders about them.
About how the must see the world.
Is it just the unending stream of water,
or do they look for more.

Strong questions for a six year old.
Perhaps just a touch too potent.
I drop my water bottle onto the ground,
thrusting me from that philosophical world.

My mother calls for me,
she tells me we have to keep going.
We've off to see the grandparents,
and my little sister is getting cranky.

So I take my leave and hope in the back.
Click, I'm fastened in.
I think back to those tiny little minnow.
Their wide eyes so obilvious to me.

Maybe, just maybe, this van of people are fishes themselves.
Swimming upstream to the lake of their youth. 
Life must be so simple then, even if the truth hurts.