I close my eyes and listen:

From my right nearby lapping on a metal canoe
From my left a different rhythm on a plastic hull
Beneath a third beat as the waves hit the pilings of the deck
Distant dripping, flowing, rushing,
A paddle beating, an oar dipping.
A quiet percussive solo with many instruments
I hear the river’s music.

I consider what pigments I will need to paint what I see:

Hooker’s green deep
Permanent green light
Cobalt Blue
Dioxizine Purple
Napals Yellow
Titanium White.
I see the river’s image.

Then  I notice the layers of the river:

Limestone bedrock and boulders
Underwater grasses and moss
The flow of the whole
The small surface waves
Tiny ripples on each wave segment
A few bubbles bopping along
Each wave with a snowy peak of brightest light
I see the river’s architecture.

I long to be part of that music – to truly SEE the beauty and sacredness of what IS.

I long to be anchored to the Bedrock like that water before me
Fluid, flexing around life’s boulders,
Full of change, full of life
Transparent, supportive, nourishing
Often quiet
Sometimes powerful

Cherry Winkle Moore
Laity Lodge
Artist Retreat, October, 2011