A droplet of water lies somewhere beneath and above where I once stood. Sprung from an abyss, a vortex, a poorly disguised portal to the World Maker’s workshop, the droplet now becomes a mountain spring.
Water’s caress of creek side reminds me of that which I have taken for granted, for far too long. Sprung from an incandescent brain trust, fear reaches to a depth I’d rather not ponder. Yet, childness instinct knows this other world.
I walk down stream. Green, rocks bare, shade, interspersed with dancing sunlight, wild onions gleefully sing and welcome a two legged outsider.
There is no reluctance to bow to this kingdom. To the water, to the air, to the rock, to the fire. There is no choice. Humbly, now on my knees I reach to quench a painful thirst. Water is the first step along this quest.
With cupped hands, the sensation of water, Too cold for touch, mirrors higher and deeper meaning. And just like the fawn, the doe, the buck, the creepy crawling ones, my lips, my being, separates from the incandescent light bulb, and Thirst no more.
- bill jacobson