Sitting in its spray,

I drift away in the melodic white sound

Of water falling.

Thoughts coming and going,

Leaving and returning

Dancing between the rocks of the baptismal moment.


Past and future,

Trying to have their say,

Blend together and fall from the edge.

Cares wear away,

Like the rocks below,

Flowing downstream,

Out of sight.


“Where is the waterfall?

Comes the question from the deep.

Before I can answer,

The water I see and hear is gone.


“It’s right there!” I point,

But my finger can’t keep up.

Even the pictures are a blur.


So I learn to sit content,

Drawing closer to the present,

Giving thanks for what is,

And accepting all change

1 Comment

Click here and subscribe to "Brushstrokes" now!