Water Water everywhere, goes the line from an ancient poem, but not a drop to drink. Without water, life as we know it would perish. The water in the poem is the home of sea life. The sea a fascination many have had with the swells of water as they travel the waters of the world. Water in its many forms carries a love hate relationship. The torrential rains that flood the land, destroying things in its path and cleaning the debris away. The snow howls across frozen land taking lives, piling up drifts for tomorrows ponds.
The cycle of water and how the rhythm of life dances with it. A gentle babble to a deafening roar, walls tumbling over everything in its way, freshening drops caressing cheeks on a moonlit night.
For centuries the muse has given birth to life from water. Walk along a bubbling brook, hand in hand with lover, riding the high waves in search of prey, seeking shelter in wind driven rivets, water is a metaphor for life in its many guises.
The small pond nearby, the ocean with no end in sight, each has a magnet that pulls.
Eternity springs forth from the dew drop, its journey to the sea, a timeless passage from somewhere to everywhere. To exist, I drink in the coolness of moisture as it flows over lips, replenishing.
I marvel at the battles man wages with nature, wanting to control, direct it. Water is always there on the battle front. It is the carrier of life, the remover of death and ultimate recycler.
Walking beside still waters, a breeze curls by ruffling the calm mirror. A small man made pond has opened doors for new life, lives that would of not existed without the hand of man. A small intermittent stream is fed with treated sewage water. Plants flourish on the edges, fish swim in schools feeding on the insect life that thrives on the waste. Birds nest in the rushes, animals raise families on the edges, waterfowl float on the current. Turtles coast on the surface, herons wade the shallows and high overhead floats the hunters.
This is man at work with nature, being a conservationist and helping nature thrive. It is not a preservationist idea of hands off. It is a hands on helping hand of using leftovers to nourish life where there was none before. A symbiosis, where man’s byproducts are used to aid wildlife.
Here one can watch the lives change and stay the same in maturation. From a tepid cesspool is a rose of caring new life. In this cycle one can learn how nature cares for itself and how it regenerates. Man but steps back and gives nature a chance and it becomes self healing.
Without man, there would be no ducks floating along on a sunny day. No fishing hole, a shore line to stroll on, a place to watch wildlife. Here at this little spot is man at work with nature. Near by are fields farmers have planted, a feeding place.