Houghton Falls

At Houghton Falls

by Yvette Viets Flaten

We stand, looking into the dish of mirror water. It shines, unwavering as glass. No stream is rushing to roil it up, no water is pouring over the rocky ledges.

We used to stand under the stream like we were in a shower, my husband says. We swam in that pool.

Today the deep forest around us is silent. And we are silent at the recollection of what was once, but is no more. The strong course of water has changed. The aquifer, the rain fall.

We stand, looking into the dish of mirror water. That’s where I dropped my Franklin half-dollar, my husband says. I never found it... We weren’t supposed to swim out here, anyway.

Around us the forest is silent at this grown boy’s confession. Surreptitious peddling from town, down the dirt road, over the tracks, to the shaded Falls. Deep recess in a boy’s secret life.

We stand still on the rocky ledges above Houghton Falls, discussing how the spring’s snow melt must restore its voice, imagining how the cascade would drop into the pool, picturing that boy rediscovering his lost treasure.

by Carol Good

Response to Betwixt—Houghton

Falls (haiku)

ice-edged blood runs cold betwixt tipped trees lichen rocks infusion of life

Response to Betwixt—Houghton Falls (tanka) ice-edged blood runs cold betwixt tipped trees lichen rocks infusion of life when green towers drink deeply through tenacious twisted roots

Response to Houghton Falls #3 (haiku) tumbled white green brown gradients race with grace so mesmerizing Response to Houghton Falls #4 (haiku) inviting caress smooth hued stream edged by ice unfrozen motion