Thursday, September 13, 2012
Creek Water
Creek Water
Tumbling and shouting
like clowns
being poured out of
a barrel,
the creek is in full riot gear,
with a sound track
like an orchestra
tuning up
for a big performance,
harmonious cacophony
of individual voices,
heedless
of whether
their own matches the others
or not,
unconcerned with what audience
might be watching
or listening,
whether they are happy
or sad,
whether they notice
or are unmoved.
Underneath it all
the plunk, plunk
of the steady
bass, somehow holding
the ensemble
together.
like a conductor
beating time
with his baton.
Light streams over the surface,
pieces of broken glass
shifting in patterns
too quick to comprehend,
a mobile artwork
that defies
interpretation
by its swift changes.
At times, you need to let go
of all your puzzlements
about the meanings of things,
what it is all about,
why things went askew
when they did,
who you might have loved
in your life
if you had met them
in time,
and just sink to the very
bottom
of this well of stillness,
endless quiet
of not asking,
with only the many throated
voices of the stream
leading you deeper,
into the untranslatable
silence
of this,
the moment revealed
at last.
Dorothy Walters
September 12-13, 2012
