Bob and Weave

Grounded

59 Grounded He lies at the creek’s edge, amazed. Old voices dip and tumble over the stones. They speak of soil and roots, of swimming in the hole, trout sparking in a spot of sun. He takes off his shoes and lets his feet down into the cold where a child’s cry curls between his toes. How the currents reveal themselves. The breezes leave no bird unturned. The long shadow slowly fills the trees. His feet break off and tumble downstream. Much later he hears through the vines that seagulls have made good use of them. Maybe he will never move again. Overhead the nighthawks are gasping. His fingers get a good grip on the ground. ...