She whispers my name... Only I can hear

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Listening to the River

All was quiet on the Mohawk river today

So I actually took some time to listen to her
She chastised me for being away for so long

And as I repented it occurred to me that the water is separate from the river bed
The river remembers me - and I remember it
But the water is always changing
The water remembers everything and every place it has ever been...

The river bed lingers - shaped by the water but retaining its own underlying character
A glimpse of which can be seen as it emerges on either shore

The river told me to look up...
And when I did there was the Eagle cruising by -
With his mighty wingspan of eight feet
That got the ducks quacking, the geese squawking and the gulls crying

He made three passes right in front of me, so close I might have touched him if I thought such a thing were permissible - exciting!

My spirit soared for a moment - and I longed to commune with him - and hear his story
But the Eagle was in haste - tracking the river for fish and listening for his mate

The woman with the dog came running up to me to ask if that was a Bald Eagle she just saw
I liked her - leash in hand - dog running free
I liked her dog too - and he graciously allowed me to scratch his head for a moment

The woman may not have known it - but the Eagle had touched her spirit as well - for I could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice


What made her think I would know?

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