There are places
along the dirt road
where the water moves
just so
insisting on erosion
rushing over ledges
of dead leaves wedged in silt
of larger rocks
coaxing forth
what sounds like human voices
barely submerged
and I wonder what is so important
that the rocks would trick the water into speech
or perhaps it’s the water using the rocks to find its voice

Such a human way to see things
and yet in nature
it simply flows

We humans
in our infinite potential
in the wonder and terror of our interconnected lives

May we be open to embracing
our possibilities
our responsibilities
our place in relation to our fellow souls

Sometimes
we are the scaffolding upon which someone else might find their voice

Sometimes
someone else becomes the rock over which we flow (or trip) and end up finding our own

Sometimes we are water
Sometimes we are rock
Sometimes we are fire
Sometimes we are air

We are more fluid than we care to be
We are more important than we care to be

But we are part of it
all of us
part of this
(in the words of Mary Oliver)
one wild and precious life