Eyeball in the Ditch
FinsburyParkCarrots
Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
The process of engaging in futile endeavour reveals far more valuable self-revelations and insights than the product. I was in my wading suit, splooshing about chest deep in the brook, yesterday. I was working on the premise of clearing leaf fall from the stream; each dragload I forked out and fired up on the bank made a clumpy splat on the copsy ground. Four-o' clock November twilight was hastened by rain, and a sense of a need to hurry up my workrate came in sounds of motor hums in school run traffic gridlocks. Splashing about and thinking about how energy equals mass, I lost hold of my slippery drag, and the long implement fell down in to the water. Night called for Jedi sight in my booted toes, as I fumbled in the mud for a feel of this elusive metal eel. No joy.
I went back this afternoon. Nearly winter sun shone reds and golds on sycamore leaves, paving the surface of the water. I once again descended into the heavy water, peering into it but keeping my breath still, so as not to ripple and obscure my view of the sunlit bottom. I repeated my trudge, using my boots to stir up stinking clods of wet mud and rot in hope that I'd nestle the drag handle from its dirty cradle.
Then, from the depths, full fathom five, a pearl. An eyeball popped up, bubbling on the river surface, darting every which way to spy a brave new world of strange men in wading suits and incurious ducks.
In futile action, a spy will meet a spy; a peeping tom will see another eye through the keyhole; and a man cleaning a stream doomed in autumn to leafy overload will lose his drag and, in hopeless effort to retrieve it, find only another hapless eye, searching frantically for nothing.
I went back this afternoon. Nearly winter sun shone reds and golds on sycamore leaves, paving the surface of the water. I once again descended into the heavy water, peering into it but keeping my breath still, so as not to ripple and obscure my view of the sunlit bottom. I repeated my trudge, using my boots to stir up stinking clods of wet mud and rot in hope that I'd nestle the drag handle from its dirty cradle.
Then, from the depths, full fathom five, a pearl. An eyeball popped up, bubbling on the river surface, darting every which way to spy a brave new world of strange men in wading suits and incurious ducks.
In futile action, a spy will meet a spy; a peeping tom will see another eye through the keyhole; and a man cleaning a stream doomed in autumn to leafy overload will lose his drag and, in hopeless effort to retrieve it, find only another hapless eye, searching frantically for nothing.
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
my brain hurts
so much to say about finding ourselves wherever we look
bully and bugger when we don't, eh?
however, i found quiet revelation in the leaves today, too.
there is much to write
thank you
ashes ashes we all fall down....
Yikes. Wishing you get out of that mess. My friend.
all posts by ©gue_barium are protected under US copyright law and are not to be reproduced, exchanged or sold
except by express written permission of ©gue_barium, the author.
My socks are wet.
all posts by ©gue_barium are protected under US copyright law and are not to be reproduced, exchanged or sold
except by express written permission of ©gue_barium, the author.