Buckets of
water sit beside an old iron pitcher pump.
They are emptied
into a reservoir until
a gush of
cold, ground water flows
with each
downward push on a rusted pump handle.
Water
splashes across the sun-struck, concrete, well cover;
basins, buckets, and animal troughs are refilled;
bird calls
spread throughout the air,
as if
sugar-pop nectars bloomed in swarms,
But sun-drenched
afternoons give way to dark clouds
that move
quickly and stream their own water falls
along the
edge of a roof’s overhang.
Out there, in
between the rain drops,
there is dry
air, cooled and set in motion
as heat
rises above the tree canopies,
as water drips
onto grass blades, leaves, and petals,
as some burrow in tree hollows
and others crouch under wooden eaves,
there is a deep breath.
as some burrow in tree hollows
and others crouch under wooden eaves,
there is a deep breath.
Heavy winds clamor in the fields and woods,
carry
undisguised truths hidden in their pockets--
until the chilling water's flow
bursts through the air, floods the earth, and
until the chilling water's flow
bursts through the air, floods the earth, and
spills into underground
streams that fill the well
and quench a
day’s thirst for knowledge.
© cmheuer, 2/2018
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