Waterway

"You drown not by falling in a river, but by staying submerged in it.” A gentle mist billows above the man-made pond that spawns a rippling sorrel-dusky brook that ebbs and widens as it becomes a river. The runnel is dark rust colors, it is restful but unquiet, as its flow softly murmers. The tributary sits next to a parking lot. A car's yellow- white headlights are bright orbs six feet above the rivulet; the lights penetrate the early morning as two approaching comets... Hot water pours into the tooth colored tub, it rises; Irish feet with puffy soft ankles step into the bath, the knees bend as the hands grasp the tub's sides- she plops heavily into the bathwater, she thinks that the thud disturbs the tenants below... never a sound from them. Her legs curl in Indian style, the warmth comforts... The river, yes, is restful; and twisted, bent branches of trees, thin, small and dove brown, adorn the dirt banks, reach over the rill- they are knowing spectators... and she soaks, and she becomes cleaner; she levitates, like the aurora's brume... The river winds throughout the towns and cities in which she walks, before the sea captures... it is in some places shallow, she can see the sandy bottom is the tint of sunshine; the river seems to always be near her... and the river brings her home. January 1, 2022