THE ROOT SYSTEM AND THE RIVER

There is a large root system that has been turned over by a storm. Its green on the outside waits in the quiet sun that filters through the forest tops. A bumble bee skirts around the edges of these roots and looks for its opening. Little moss grows everywhere. Frogs hide in the little river edges that pass through, - near mud, inside of the water, - their eyes looking out on the larger world. The tall Pines watch also. Sometimes the old farmer walks through their, surveying this or that. The path leading up is steep. Slowly we shall go to the top of the valley wall, to the ridge. But first, the floor and the water and the tree as if living in a secreted world wait. Its quiet save for the water, and the water bubbles over in some places and comes quite gently amongst the good river rocks,- rocks that are tumbled and still then,- smooth and safe, and something else. The ‘else’ is that that they are cold to the touch, - and if you were touch then gently and respectfully with your hand then perhaps they would cool in a way your entire body. The water is passing from an unknown place, - its source, odd and I will infuse it with mystery here like the source of the Ganges itself. Why? Because in actuality it is a mystery- I don’t quite know where that water comes from, - hard to see, difficult to discern. And I have been on both sides of the valley and walked the entire landscape. Where does the water come from? I can’t find its source, yet the water is there…cool bright transfixing hopeful assuaging life giving ready for a layman a worker a poet a painter a mystic or a mystic. Water. Water from a cave? Water from the astral? Water from a hidden entrance? Water from a local land that can’t quite be seen? Water. There is a root system there it waits in shards and sprinkles of sun at the bottom of the valley,- many little paths around and various tall trees abound and reach up proudly and confidently and strongly with the wondrous prowess and dignity that only trees can possess. They mix with the air and the sky and seem to know the sun and the moon, the birds like the hawk and black bird and peace dove, the goldfinch the blue jay the cardinal the robin and especially the woodpeckers red haired on headed and spry hard working quick and numerous. Down from the roots is that river going along meandering sounding quietly and helping to define the contours the rocks the feral ferns at the sides that hide amid the shade and perhaps under which wait an afternoon snake strange unknown flower, newt, or other.

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