Dragon Time

astronomicum_caesareum_(1540).f18Our vigil nearly done; the fire embers drowning in ash. We watched the full moon go new, then suddenly wax again––a month coiled into 5 hours. We fed our fire on pine knots and burned our way through the dragon, arriving safely on another shore––the moon shared a few secrets along the way. I was worried about her, cut off from the light of her beloved sun, but in her red-pearl fullness, she was blushing with another light––one entirely her own. Somewhere near the heart of the dragon, I found that prayer is light.

Rivertime

A new breach in an old long-forsaken dam uncoils a distortion foisted upon the Oconee river.  Another chord reemerges from a river-time rhythm––intelligible, but entirely too subtle for the loud and crude to notice.  The river clears her throat, preparing new disclosures from an ancient song. 

Flow still burdened, sure enough––distortions upriver and down, skinned basin slopes losing ground with every torrent from a thunderous sky––but river-time prevails over our impatience; the river knows.  Every dam is a pretense to be overcome; every exploitative abuse of the river’s earthy frame heals beneath living bonds of an unstoppable green, but this––bittersweet for us––is the creative work of a time mercifully beyond our destructive own.  Listen deeply, you’ll hear the river’s oddly familiar melody, perhaps for the very first time; observe diligently, you’ll catch glimmers of Oconee’s own flowing glory.

RiverFreeBlessingBelow the breach on the river’s muddy edge, a storm-gray feather quivers gently in an imperceptible wind.  Heron, that old river guardian, strolled here before I arrived.  Considering his mythic lineage, I suspect he’s conspiring new beginnings for this beloved river.