The Magic of Water

The sound of the water

leads where you must linger.

Follow it in its steady drip, in its heady grip, in its unrelenting hit.

Follow the smell of the rush,

of the crush,

of the crash, 

of the thrash, 

of the truth, 

of your youth.

Follow the noise that makes old men boys, that makes hearts ache and quake but not break.

Follow the path made by lost sheep and wandering feet, finding they stand in unseen lands.

Follow it because you may and because you must because in doing so you might

just

find again

that which has long been held in its pools and hold it at last in your own two hands, drinking it deep, you and it and the memories you keep drawn down down down. Hiding, hidden, home.