Posted by on Aug 22, 2008 in All things natural | 0 comments

I need to go down to the river again

And walk out beyond the shallow waters

To where the sand becomes rock,

Then drops out from under my feet with a sudden intake of breath.

The cold green water

Will wash over my head

And I will lie back gratefully in the embrace of the familiar.

How many generations of fish have lived and died while I was absent?

Their kin have no remembrance, but will still nibble kisses along my arms and legs.

The ancient sun will laugh, and warm my back until I roll to face him.

The river does not care, nor the fish, nor the sun.

Perhaps that is where my father waits for me.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *