Sunday, December 2, 2012

Listen for the Music at the Riverbank

Listen for the Music at the Riverbank

            1.   My dad taught me the joy of skipping stones. I’d never
                  seen it done. I still do it when I get near a small lake or

            2.   Bend low, sling the flat stone as fast as you can and
                  you’ll get three or four hops out of it over the water.

            3.   It’s an angel’s dance; I saw a champion once get 18 or 
                  20 hops . . . plink, plink, plink . . . even more is possible.

            4.   Sometimes, after surviving a crisis or completing a gut-
                  wrenching job, you long for the music.

            5.   Somewhere inside, you have a river. Go there, where
                  you’ll hear real things, all else blotted out.

            6.   There, you’ll learn how to recapture your gifts and know
                  where you belong.

            7.   Exult in what only you do so well . . . plink, plink,
                  plink. It can be that easy when you bend to true


A true act
of nature
is skipping stones,
an extension
of a skipping heart.
I see a certain
kind of fly
that lights quickly
and sequentially
over more
dormant water
like a swamp
or slow-moving river.
The darter speaks
to our aspiration.
A crisis will
slow me down
to solid thick
preparing me
for that time
when I dance
on the river bank.

© 2012 Allan Cox, Allan Cox & Associates Inc. All Rights Reserved.

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