A meeting at the water’s edge.

aerial photography of water beside forest during golden hour

We knelt at the water, holding our urns, one from the depths and another from the surface. We tipped them both behind us, five streams to water the land, and each returned to us in its smells, its touch, the offered visions, songs. We tasted, too. We each had one foot in the stream and listened. Shhh, came the next breath. There was no cover. Only the stars, and we held them, too. 

Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

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