The canoe slides noiselessly through the river. Beneath lily pads and water lettuce, the water is astonishingly clear. Stare down to the river’s bed — observe the passage of soft-tumbled stones pressed into fine silt. Shift of focus — see in stead the pattern of complex reflections tremble against the water’s surface.
Trees huddle to left and right — thick, green, lush, they define what once must have been the river’s slope-shouldered banks. The river, though, has swollen to claim large portions of the wood. Even midstream, trees lift themselves skyward – roots and trunks knuckle up through shallow water; while bark, worked in layered shapes and soft colors, peels slowly away from those wooded torsos. Dip the oars and navigate the canoe around these, with care.
Reach a hand out, over the canoe’s edge. Trail fingers through the water and touch an up-thrust, thick-gnarled root. The entire tree shivers, disintegrates, crumbles away. Fibrous bits and splinters drift and spiral down through the water, sift and settle to dust the stones nested within the riverbed below.
One thought on “Wood and Water — A Dream”
Always the wordsmith with a polished tongue.
Hesitant as I am to decode the dream, I offer this. I think this has something to do with letting go of the past in perspective of the length and passage of your life. The trees have history, including some struggles/knots, and are now crumbling into the stream of consciousness/existence. The water looming, amassing over them is emotional current. You’ve given a lot of energy to that history, and now it is losing its importance or need for concern. In a way, you are burning the old tax files because they are not that important, anymore.
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