I stood,
watching and
listening;

She threw herself down the mountain
Covering me with her baptismal mist;
Her violent rage
washing and
banking and
bending and
relentless,
over stones,
across the fallen oak
a casualty of
storms long past;

Splashing from the confines of her banks,
carving new paths
through the tumult
and confusion
of a once gentle stream;
waters from a far away place,
the remnant of some storm in another
time and another place;

She fell roaring,
venting,
exorcising herself,
falling into swirling eddies
of contentment;

Placid,
her soul at rest,
she tarried a bit
resting,
gathering strength,
wandering this way
and that,
searching,
longing,
until she found her way
and was gone;
I stood
watching and
listening,
and straining to hear her voice;
And I did.

~

Relephant read:

Time is a Narrow, Gray Man. {Poem}

~

Author: Jim Owens

Volunteer Editor: Terry Price / Editor: Caitlin Oriel

Image: Flickr/William Warby // Unsplash/Andrew Coelho