A Worker's Story, Living Water

A day in the life of a worker. I like the sound of this job better than my own. I must admit, however, my job isn't so bad. I have done it for longer than I care to mention, and while I am the odd duck there, I am pretty much the odd duck anywhere. I get to be creative, the good news when I have enough time somehow, the bad news when I don't. Still, I wouldn't mind the short life of some of the other worker bees on the planet.

A Worker's Story

I sip blackberry
Nectar with my long dark tongue
In a morning dream

Of flying forth as ordered
By the agents of my queen.

My belly fills up
And there's gold dust on my legs
Waiting for flowers.

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The water cycle lies at the heart of life - not water itself as much as its passages and transformations. The amazing fact of this cyclic movement of water, driven by chemistry and heat differentials both within and beyond life, deserves worship as far as I am concerned. Lewis Thomas among others taught me long ago that I was best positioned for a chance at real understanding if I got easy in reversing my viewpoint. It is possible perhaps that Creation is made for me, that I am to be steward, in service as royalty is called to service. Yet it can also be quite the other way around, and that I am created in the service of (fill in the blank), in this case the water cycle. My servitude is paid for in the fantasies I am permitted, the illusions of central position and autonomy among them.

Living Water

I seek the quiet
Found in between, in the green
Splashes, falling rain,

In how drops lay on moist grass,
In how morning opens thus.

Later I rise as
Vapor with rising mist soon
To be clouds again.