THE PAINTING

Brushstrokes embed the fury and hurl the

Stones, fired in a volcano’s ancient kiln and lifted above

Younger rocks, to form a molten bed for the river’s flow

And the forest’s roots. 

Water rushes down the mountain slope, stumbles

Over the stone boulders and falls in a white froth

Churning earth and lichens into

Irregular brushes of color that sear the canvas 

Brown and black. 

Tall, fallen trunks uncover skylights

Within the green and tanned canopy;

Dark shadows crawl between the trees and

Float in the turbulent water that unearths and

Bathes the blue granite and slate, cooling the earth,

Where the river gathers in rocky crevices;

Draws stones and trees to its sides;

Tells epic stories of the mountain’s creation;

Smooths out the clock’s hands; unravels the surface present;

And flows into the past as invisibly as the

Thinnest crest of now.

© cmheuer, 2013