Being The River's Fingers

The River asked me
to be her fingers
her voice
her song.
I don't remember
saying "yes"
that day I offered
to help clean up,
but here I am dancing her
into wholeness and beauty.
Segments of my life
on seemingly unrelated
streams and branches
weave together
in a flowing
undulating tapestry as
the watershed
unveils herself
to me through me in me.

Burning desire
to know about her-story,
who drank from her waters
before
in birchbark,
in cabins, in mills,
in factories, in suburbs:

How can I feel her sense
of transformation
of the slime and dumps,
the stench
and cement banks
of the hopeless reputation
into greenbelts, wetlands,
joy-filled parks,
wild reserves?

When did I say
I would spend my days
connecting the places
opening my eyes
and their eyes
to her web of grace?
To come to know her
intimately
over hundreds
of square miles
to feel her voice
whisper or cry,
"Have you noticed this?
Show them this!
my colors, my offerings
my stories of Her-Story."

~Carly Dyer

Picture found here.