A constant friend, or foe, I feel a soldier in its army.
A constant companion, sometimes summoned by the best of times
and sometimes the cause of the worst of them.
I am trying to channel you for inspiration right now.
You should have your uses.
You can come with me, but I cannot permit you to stop me.
Like any old friend, experience teaches me how to deal with you. The permissible and the possible.
Water flows everywhere, and brings forth the connections.
I can see silhouettes outside, of trees and hedges, against a not-yet dark, the black on the electric blue.
That sky is a horizon that overlooks the not-too-distant shore, the waters.
If you perceive the place you are in to be prosaic, a backwater if you will, I invite you to think about where its waters have flown. In the guts of millions, the quagmire in the corner of a winter field. The tropical shoreline.
It is the original wealth, necessary for life and best when in constant circulation. You may hoard it but it is folly to dam up a lake for yourself.
And it will save itself on our behalf, in recognition that profligacy and recklessness are the other side of the miser’s coin.
But if we are abusive of its bounties, it will melt away-in every sense of the word.
Melt to saline, an overbearing shore to wash away our follies.
I nonetheless hope that doesn’t happen.
This is what I think of, when I think of water.