Water Threads

     I have scooped the ocean in my hands and watched as more returned to the ocean, trickling through my fingers, than was given me to cool my face. I have cupped water in my hands from rivers and streams to cleanse the sweat from my face and instead gave drink to the earth. Pressing the lever with one hand I have tried to steal water from a stingy water fountain to quench my thirst but alas returned the treasure to the fountain. 
     I think of my former neighborhood, my friend’s houses and the businesses I frequented now underwater in Tennessee. Upon the same earth, in Australia, Africa and other areas, the sound and taste of water has almost been forgotten. I think of my sanctuary, the Gulf, proving the adage that oil and water do not mix. Throughout the earth life in all forms cries out in need for the water that is or is not.
     These contrasting images collide and repel. Like water itself it is easy to be dazzled by the images’ shimmer and texture so that what you see is not what is. I know their current leaves lessons to be learned. Some of the metaphors are obvious leaving me thirsty for what lies within the flood and drought and the ungraspable. Of course, there is always the possibility that this quest for meanings and connections is like water trickling through my fingers.