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The Spring

The Spring

John 4:14

I asked about the pond we found

a little further from the house

than I’d been all my life.

It was full (even in drought

my father said) and I was glad,

it was clear (even with the glare)

I could see it was deep—

and I ran through

the grass (that came to

the edge) to look

but I slipped and

my foot sunk

in and my elbow


I reached for some grass

and pulled myself out,

breathed deep,

then sighed,

then laughed at [to] myself and

stood up (with shirt off), and

backed away to get some distance.

I ran to the edge (full speed),

took a leap,

plugged my nose,

breathed deep

and closed my eyes.

I went back every day.


I dropped my bags (there were two).

hugged my dad.

kicked my shoes.

threw my shirt.

In the sun my eyes glared but

I lift my hand and jogged

through the grass and

sat my feet in with a smile.

I paused and decided,

rolled backwards and stood.

I backed up

and I jumped.


This time I flew in,

briefcase and tie,

hugged my dad and we sat

and talked for awhile.

I took off my shoes,

leaned back on the couch,

placed my hands behind my head and let my sigh out.

It was late when

I stepped into the kitchen,

opened the fridge,

glancing in,

but nothing looked good—

so I sipped filtered water,

walked back upstairs,

and told my eyes to close as I laid there.

They shot open quick!

Like white light through the window, I

yanked open the blinds and

looked across the field.

Threw on my robe, ran

out to the shed, grabbed

a shovel and a pickaxe (and

glad that I did). I

quickened myself to

the edge of the

water, took my shovel and

pickaxe and began to dig


I tore the

grass, threw the

dirt in a heap,

breathing heavy with

every wide sweep.

After hours

My hands blistered

raw, I sat on my

robe in the dirt and cried.

I stood up and I dug.

I sat and I wept.

And I stood to dig again,

but I couldn’t stand anymore.

So I crawled myself to the edge of the pool,

saw the dirt

on my hands and my face and my hair

(even my teeth and my tongue and my smile)

as I [looked and] kneeled.

I closed my eyes

and slipped my hands in the water,

rubbed them slowly together,

as the cloud appeared

and disappeared forever…

I took off my robe,

I washed off my toes.

In measure I paused,


and slipped myself deep, deep, deep.

It enveloped me.


I was older and further.

Heavy hearted,


I wept for my father with my face in my hands

and my hands in the water.

It held me,


—in it’s depths

I go farther.


Now I spend my days at the home of my youth.

Most mornings I wake and walk out to our pond.

Sometimes my eyes open

in the glare of the dawn and

I’m still in the water and

I’m still sinking deeper,

seeing the surface,

watching the lights flicker—

they dance on the edge

like leaves in the wind

and wish to look in,

and be as deep as I.

I just smile

and sink

and smile.


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