Water I Am

I turn on the faucet and water flows into

the pot. It behaves sometimes; oftentimes

not. The rain falls freely without regard

for that which it washes away. To oceans,

to the lowlands and rivers, water finds its way.

It seeks its own level, rises to flood and inundates.

It hydrates, the water of which we are mostly

made. It is then of no surprise that in our lives

we continue to move from place to place. And

as pools, puddles and lakes dotting the land,

rising as humidity, each and every drop of our

being evaporates eventually. Is it any wonder

then we look up to the clouds naming shapes

in wonder and amazement? I, myself, feel a

kinship to snowfall in Greenland as lost memories

of millenniums past layer deeply in glaciers which

move incrementally, inch by inch across the

frozen land. And transformed, here I am

again, melted, flowing freely and fluidly from

the faucet into the pot. h2o...water I am, mostly.

Chris Hanch 12-22-17