What transpired between the collecting of things and her new found passion for spoken word, is the source of the river's new story line.
It traverses between the smokies and remote areas of the catskills. Bears, deer, toads and black willows are especially prevalent. But thanks to deep snows which hardly melt by June, the river moves with no concern.
It becomes delicious icy cold, drunk out of a tin cup, left by the old willow since we did our last full moon ritual. It began to rain, the quiche was getting wet. We went inside to play music and talk about not much really. But it was absorbing and comforting.
The echo in the sunken living room, with floor to ceiling windows on three sides...facing upstream, downstream, mid-stream, flows with no expectations, an ear shot from where we sit. The tiny drum roll of the rain slicing the stream in ribbons of lighted beauty was enough to arrest our gaze, and never let it go. We surrendered to the flow we had known without question, since childhood. We were remembering on breast bones, thymus cells, and within conception vessels....the sensations of fragrant freedom.
gentle sensual
grasses scratching legs and feet.
taking to the fields
'Haibun' , and Photo by Kate Lamberg~ all rights reserved. (c) '13
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