Thursday, November 27, 2008

                        just now as I was 
staring into the end of the first 
fireplace fire of the winter,
and the room was dark and cold 
everywhere but the hearth
where I sat, and the only sound
I could hear was that of the fish
tanks babbling on as the guppies 
hovered sleeping near the rocks,

I was brought to another time
in less than an instant, as tends 
to happen to me during some
peaceful solitary activities, and 

the delicate perfectly cylindrical 
dying flame undulating at the underside
of the thinner of two logs reminded 
me of when handwashing
time always would become a game.
with soap being wasted and 
mirrors being splashed and
shirts becoming soaked and
heads hung at the sight of Mom.

one of my favorite things to do
in the kitchen sink was to turn 
the faucet to the exact spot
where the steam was as
solid and clear as an icicle,
before the tiny screen at its mouth
could break it into noisy whitewater.
I'd place one finger in 
the stream and feel its
weight and split it into
two. for long stretches of time 
this kept me occupied.

and I smile thinking of how
silly yet charmingly innocent it is 
that a child can be so amused by
something so small. that a 
stream of water and her finger's 
effect on it make bring her joy.

and then I smile again realizing
that ironically, in all these years of 
alleged cynicism and maturation, 
so little has actually changed.

1 comment:

Meg said...

my heart is captured and i find a profound understanding into my own curiosity in your description of the water. lovely.

my word verification to leave a comment: "spork" funny word.