Drip, Drip, Drip, Drip

Posted: January 11, 2019 in Uncategorized

The dampness usually drives us in
to our dens, our houses, to covered spaces and fire,
but not today, for the call
is to the wild spaces, at least more wild.

Drip, drip, drip, drip

Before wetness turns hard and white
it pours off the bill of my hat
and delivers me from the given path
the prescribed one made for feet and wheels.

Drip, drip, drip, drip

The woods seize my attention
take me as their own, toward a different way,
made by the animals, bark scraped by antlers,
trails carved by eons of passing, grazing, searching.

Drip, drip, drip, drip

One trail gives way to two, three, more,
there is never one, but many,
and knowing which to take
is only known by watching, walking
until, finally, there are not many, not even one,
because sometimes there are none.

Drip, drip, drip, drip

The dry creek bed is slimy with new rain, mud
and tracks, but these are not hooves, but rather paws,
big paddy paws, and I count them until they disappear:
one, two, three, four, five.

Drip, drip, drip, drip

All nature is falling and rising, branches rotting,
even the huge trees, yanked out of earth
like weeds. Their roots pose naked, twisted,
full of stories and I almost avert my eyes,
and they say: nothing is forever, not even me,
but I am beautiful.

Drip, drip, drip, drip

The loop I walk is not mapped, except the new one
I make, all the way down the ravine, slipping,
scooting to the bottom, tripping on vines,
pants snagging on thorny brush, climbing over logs.

Drip, drip, drip, drip

The watershed veins are carved in the earth
like open wounds, waiting because they have time,
receiving the offering from the sky,
flowing out toward the river,
flowing without knowing why or for whom.

If you can’t find God here
then it’s not going to happen anywhere else.

Drip, drip, drip, drip

Comments
  1. Don Lanier says:

    Thanks for the trip through the snowy wood.

    Don L

  2. janice henson says:

    “Sometimes there are none”

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