Unstoppable

The water waits

for no one

mountains crumble

under machines and time and

the rivers carry the

remains to the ocean

the old canneries sink

into the estuaries and

and the water still calls

the salmon home

our nets catch

not only fish but something larger

and as they are tossed onto the

shorelines they

briefly hold a piece

of eternity

We can only hope to build something to briefly meet the power of forever

I sometimes think that our best creations as people are those that are flexible enough to acknowledge their (and our) temporary place in the larger world.

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For more innovation in the face of inevitability, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Water Wound

in a land where water

disappears

ponds draw all threads

together

every plant large and small carefully

woven

without regard for their

differences

in a desperate dance of

survival

There are few tapestries as richly varied as the edges of ponds

In the wildlands, water both draws and binds.

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For more tales of water, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Still Waters

The frantic energy of running water

seems like a force that can’t be challenged

and it is strange

to stand on the frozen bank

and no longer feel

the heartbeat

Water is the bloodstream, still or moving

I am always fascinated, and unnerved, by the way that winter puts life and movement on hold.

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For more freezing, and thawing, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Water Walking

I fell through the ice once.

Smaller and less cautious,

I missed the boundary between the thicker and thinner places

That separated the water from my feet.

As I heard the snap and felt the ice and my legs give,

I remember wondering why

If ice was water, I couldn’t keep walking

On the waves beneath it,

Why the only direction my feet could take in water

Was down.

I am no water walker,

Now or then,

But I learned that I was willing to brave the water

I could not walk

To see the shore behind me,

To stare at the land that would not pull me down from

The illusion that my feet could travel the surface of the waves

And not their depths.

Sometimes the most dangerous paths are the most rewarding

There is something both powerful and terrifying about standing inches above uncontrollable forces.

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For more dangerous surfaces, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

Mirrorwater

In the deeper forests,

The older, sheltered passages,

The waters never fully freeze.

Ice reaches out and is stayed-

Maybe afraid of the water-shaken sky

It can never hope to reach.

The water’s reflection is always kinder

Than the reality-

Edges smoothed and light expanded.

But even the ice can’t survive

The deep darkness beneath

The lying mirror.

Reflections can conceal as much as they reveal

I still remember the first time I tried to break through the reflection on the water as a child.

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For more deep waters, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

 

Drainage

The mountains empty in the fall, in the spring.

Snow melt and fall rains swell the creeks that feed the rivers that rise the water

Up over the landscape.

You can see the flood marks on the trees,

Carved into the gravel and banks.

When the water recedes,

The sculptures are left in its wake.

Savaged and sculpted branches melded with rocks and uprooted trees-

Contortions never possible while living.

(A dead moose trapped under the bridge, its bones full of hiding fish.)

On higher land,

The scale is smaller,

But the effect is similar.

Those unmaintained marks of humanity and drainage,

Grow over in thick moss and mushrooms,

Soon to be battered once again,

By the passage of indifferent storms.

The only constant is destruction… and regrowth.

Water is a powerful force both in its presence and in its absence.

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For more cyclical forces, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

 

The Path of Water

We measure seasons by the shape of water.

From dew to frost, from rain to snow,

Water travels through the year-

A chameleon marker of time,

Of passing days and relentless progress.

The weight of water is carefully measured.

Small trickles of rain or snow or dew

Gradually etch their presence into buildings,

Into trees and stone.

You would think the metal would survive,

But after forty years, it is the trees and grass that bear

The yoke-

All previous signs of humanity ground

Into mossy debris.

Look out at the lawn and the delicate lacing-

Power is not force,

But persistence.

Few forces as powerful or delicate as the expanding water burrowing to the ground

Slow change is an amazing force to watch.

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For forces delicate and otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

 

By the Moon, By the Water

The world pulses.

Land, water, ice expand and contract.

Some within the sight of our lifetime, some within the sight of the mountains.

There is a beat to it, a constant refrain beneath the feet, at the tips of the fingers.

We caught the tide on our way to the island.

There are those that live in that in-between space,

Who stay when the water retreats and move when it returns.

It is another world, the intertidal,

The space of sometimes water, sometimes land.

Those within that space live by the constant dance between the moon and the earth,

The million partners in a larger dance.

In the dark, the trace of light creates a pathway across the waves.

Creates a point of measurement for those who lie beneath.

They chase the currents, find the pools and rocks,

Those who dwell in the breath of tides.

Lives measured by the space between the pull.

Pathways marked-

By the moon.

By the water.

Barnacles are an integral part of the dance

The intertidal is one of my favourite places to spend time. There are few things as beautiful or strange as the creatures who dwell within it.

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For more zones of interface, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.