CROSSING
08
poem
LINES and IMAGE Jim Warnock
The raspy call of a kingfisher sometimes greets me at this crossing, but on this frozen morning, I hear only the soft murmur of icy rocks. It’s cold and swift. Should I cross? When I was younger, I followed your lead, later pulling hard against the threads that tied me to home and safety. Now, as a grown man walking this trail alone, you’re a saint who accompanies me. I feel your spirit at times of decision. Should I cross this stream? I wait to hear. More often than not you say, “Yes.”
Yes, cross it. Yes, climb it. Yes! Let the slick rock teach you its shape. Feel the life in the water press against you and be thankful. Trust your eyes and the strength in your legs. Step carefully. I pause in silent celebration at the other side. The stream is louder now with a thousand yeses pouring over ancient rocks. As I turn to continue this familiar trail, the chiseling call of a kingfisher echoes from downstream saying,
Yes, love all of this and those you know you’ll lose.
DOSOUTHMAGAZINE.COM
