mermaidcamp

mermaidcamp

Keeping current in wellness, in and out of the water

You can scroll the shelf using and keys

Rush

January 7, 2019

river

river

The sounds are all drowned, muffled by roaring thunder
As the speakers and the spoken words flow like a torrent
Swirling around rapids, churning up silt that washed down
When the mountains were flooded with bitterness and fear
These times are all uncertain and these places in danger
We watch the currents of resentment carve pathways
Through the river beds of stone where gold was once found

#WritePhoto Dream Flow

September 21, 2017 7 Comments

 

Flowing River

Flowing River

The edges of the stones were mossy and slick.  When we tried to climb on them we slipped into the rushing current of the river.  We were carried swiftly downstream, looking for a jetty or an overhanging branch on which to cling. There were no helpful signs. The river had run away with us, and in our folly we had lost our way deep in the forrest.  The adventure had turned into a nightmare without a map or a plan.

This little hike started out with innocent curiosity about where the source of this river .  Some said the tributaries trickled down from the whole mountain range, naturally seeking the sea.  Others told stories of a hidden artesian spring deep in a cave, which was the main source of all the water we found in between the river’s banks.  It had been said in ancient times a hermit guarded the source of the spring, to keep the enemies from polluting it. The folk tales of the valley mention healing powers, even miraculous restoration of wealth and status, attributed to bathing in the river water. The hermits and the shamans kept the secret of the waters for themselves.  They stopped healing the sick, and started selling miracles to those in power at the time. After a time the spring ran dry, and the flow of the river was diminished.

We found shelter under tall trees on the shore where we finally landed. We sat at the edge of the water and watched for the others.  Our voyage of discovery had been ill-advised to say the least.  We now found ourselves miles from our intended destination, wet and without a plan.  As the afternoon shadows grew long we heard voices coming from the woods.  Our shouts for help were finally met with the sound of our companions calling our names. Once reunited we felt better, but still had no idea where we were. We built a fire and told our individual stories of falling into the current and finding our way to this place until we all fell asleep.

After a long heavy sleep we awoke to find ourselves safe and sound on the shore where we had started our day.  We all had strange dreams about the river which we recounted to each other on the way home.  It was surprising how similar our dreams had been.

#writephoto

#writephoto

This story is in response to Sue Vincent’s photo prompt in her Echo.  Each week writers interpret a photo to share.  Join us to read, comment, or write your own piece.

 

 

#WritePhoto Birds Of A Feather

June 8, 2017 10 Comments

The Flock

The Flock

We sat on the hill above the flooded river
Watching as towns and farms washed away
Floating downstream on the big cresting waves
Water overflowed the banks and destroyed trees
That had stood on the shore for centuries
Their roots were severed by the current rushing
Swelling, moving the earth beneath their giant limbs
That crashed into the water with furious destructive
Sounds of nature taking her revenge on civilization
The only hopeful sign we could see from our perch
Was the flock of birds flying over their former homes
Taking to the sky to look for a new place to build nests
We envy them their ability to keep the flock together
They fly in tight formation, in search of fairer weather

#writephoto

#writephoto

This poem was written in response to this weeks photo prompt by Sue Vincent on her blog , The Echo.  Join bloggers from around the globe for more stories about this photo and last week’s.

Path To The River

March 19, 2017 3 Comments

 

Santa Cruz River

Santa Cruz River

Santa Cruz River

Santa Cruz River

On the way down to the river the thick grass rustled as we walked
Animals scampered away as we approached, finding shelter
Our thirsty tired bodies were weary from days of hiding and running
The heat of the day was dry and brutally bright with white sunlight
Tears fell into the river when we finally touched the water at last
Our latest disaster might be averted by this running stream we found
We can fill ourselves and our canteens with liquid we hope is not foul

Our lives have become precarious, supported merely by twists of fate

There is no question that we must drink it, polluted or not, or we will perish

 

 

 

 

%d bloggers like this: