Walking along the muddy path
by the sparkling,
flowing river
Boots squelch down
in puddles
that lie in wait for me
like small and
hungry swamps.
Water mixed with earth
and brown swirls
left by cows
Trampled by the heavy feet
of hunters after pigs,
and men and women–
skidding now and then
on patches
of that treacherous clay–
after the bright reflections
of their own
inner peace.
The river so high in winter
with sun that shows itself
just here and there
in vast surpassing blue
Gleaming through
the darkening clouds
Shining far into
that deep green
massive water
lined with reaching trees.
Through all the canals
And waterways,
Weirs and water gates
still direct its flow
Even since abandoned
after those that built
and tended them
Over many hundred years
have wandered off
and left them
to live some other kinds
of lives,
More and more complex.
The ingenuity of mills and
The wonders of knowing
how to use the force
of all that flow.
Creating and maintaining;
Streaming human wealth
from that ever-changing river
forging down those mountains.
Lives given to the grinding of grain,
The sawing of logs
And finally
the weaving of cloth.
And I am here
seeking forgiveness
From the trees
And finally finding
That it is there
Flowing fast and strong
Through us all
As those humans
who fashioned all this artifice
must have known
In the quiet of their souls,
pretending with their faith
their will would reign supreme
to direct what cannot
ever be turned back,
And will never be denied.
And I turn my face
To the force of
All that water
As it batters
Through my walls.
