The Confluence
Autumn 2005 pg. 3
|It's
water in motion
by Roger Groghan
The first
stream in my consciousness
was as a toddler at a family picnic,
water slipping over round stones
I created
my own alluvial
fan with a garden hose,
sand and mica separating
into streaks and swirls
according to their weight
and flakiness.
The sweep
of curves
in the meander of a large river,
I always ask for a window seat
when I fly.
My first
encounter with the North
Fork was a spring flow,
river rocks clink clink as they roll
I suppose
any river will do,
but this has become home.
Standing
at the bottom
of Clementine falls,
dark sky full of a February storm,
offers exhilaration and humility.
Or lounging
on a rock
with notebook and pen after a dip, dripping with sensations
that struggle for words
Or the
new view
of this crease in the earth
at full moon.
I need
some place to ask those questions
legitimate and rude of my civilization.
In the canyon I'm a little more enclosed
with the wild.
