The little creeks are running again
and the forest moss lifts up its voice
in floods of rich green bryophyte harmony
tiny birds dance in manuka thickets
frequenting musical puddles
twirling ferny tails in circus circles
the dry cracked earth is soaking up the blessed water
like hardened hearts learning to trust again
ready to sing
We need a new philosophy
what will it take to tilt the wind?
can we whistle in a new story?
a fresh breezy narrative
with more than a whiff
of moss and mushroom
fern and feather
Wolf! Lift your nose to the changing wind
fresh as spring
old as water
feel it lift your fur
let it ripple around those great powerful shoulders of your’s
breathe in that most precious thing
a change of heart
– Artwork by Jenny Rattenbury
Paired impressions in the dark damp earth lend me downhill.
Someone else uses this place but they are not human.
Someone meeker, possibly pronged.
I discovered this spot a while back – camping out.
A secret stream, hiding in forest and flax, quiet and flecked green and gold with river grass –
criss-crossed with black submerged forest flotsam.
Gaze into maps of golden deep, edged by oceans of dark shade.
Twiggy reflections walk down into a wobbly mazy wonderland of inverted roof.
Dragonflies both red and cobalt blue zoom in pairs or hang, wagging up and down.
It’s hard to reach down to the water.
I have to wedge both feet into recessions in the bank and dip one hand to guzzle the cool water, while hanging off a bush with the other. I’m an orangutan!
Having sloshed down as much as I feel like, I can now pause –
pooled by warm sun, gold water and increasingly damp bum.
A single reed curves out over the surface cupping a hollowed out cove.
Watch that floating bit of stick.
It tries to beach itself going against the reed but is batted away and caught in an eddy.
It circles around past my useful bush, back against the mossy bank and my wedged foot then repeats the process, batting that reed back into the eddy and round again.
Four times it does this.
Look closely and the eddy is made up of a series of spinning whirls of water all circling past the curvy reed and backwards round the hollow like a series of juggling balls or spinning moons orbiting – except they lack a planet.
I’ve been so busy watching the tiny emerging threads of water-mills that I missed the fact that my stick has finally managed to escape and vanish.
But here’s another one, trapped in the same cycle, like one of us doomed to keep facing the same dilemmas and responding in the same ineffectual way –
till eventually mere chance lets us spin off and float downstream to the next adventure.
Light from the east
Falls mysteriously in interlocking circles –
others pale distant planets…
across the dragonfly cushion
up the moulding on the window
spilling across the wall –
My physicists might tell me why
but before they have
– the light changes