Water isn’t always safe. I always think it's beautiful, but sometimes it also scares me. Most recently, lying in bed in our tent on holidays and listening to the rain pelting down on the roof (fortunately not getting through) I was reminded of this. It was so loud I couldn’t hear my own breathing. I knew our tent was water tight, but I really didn’t want to get hit by all the water above us.
Earlier in the day, I’d been outside the tent, taking down an awning and pegging out reinforcing guy ropes to hold the fly further out from the tent, because a severe storm was on the way. The storm actually hit before we had finished this task and I was soon soaked to the skin (there was no time to put on a raincoat). It wasn’t long before I was shaking with cold (due to being soaked) and I couldn’t hear anything above the sound of the rain, nor could I think straight. I didn’t love water so much at that moment!
Changeable friend
A torrent of sound,
forcing its way through,
lashing me.
You stab me, beat me, shove me,
your fingers needle sharp,
as you push, prod, batter.
How can you be so hard now,
before you were so soft, kindly, welcoming?
I am so cold, bereft of your welcome.
You strip away my defences and I am weakened,
take pity on me.
See, I am going now,
I know when I am not wanted.
But don’t leave me, truly.
I miss your soft caress.
Surely we will be friends again, later,
when you are kinder, warmer, sweeter.
My changeable friend.
Cathy Bulfin,
January 2021, Lake Conjola.
No comments:
Post a Comment