WHITE WATER TRANSFORMATIONS
WHITE WATER TRANSFORMATIONS
I am coarse stone, yearning to be touched,
dreaming of being rounded, smooth, and glassy.
A colorless piece of rubble,
wanting to be held and caressed
while desiring to end up as a cherished part
of someone’s beloved rock collection.
I no longer want to be a sharp-edged rock, isolated and alone,
needing to cut and divide my heart and mind,
bthat have been worn dull by years of disappointment
Today, I allow myself to toss, turn, and tumble.
To be kicked around.
Stomped into the earth and dug up again.
Season after season,
my ugly stone self is weathered
by fall’s blustery winds,
winter’s freezing blizzards,
spring’s drenching rains,
and summer’s blanching sun.
After a lifetime of never-ending seasons,
I will find myself on a dry riverbed,
where a seasoned stone skipper
recognized my value enough to
sublimely thrown me horizontally
across the glassy river’s surface.
I will be carried downstream
into tumultuous white water,
where I will violently crash
into large and unforgiving boulders.
This crushing, grinding river violence
Will chips away at my sharp stone’s misery.
Smaller and lighter,
I allow myself to erratically moves
along the river’s silty bottom,
where I will rest and remain dormant
for what seems like an eternity.
After a torrential downpour
of hurricane-like winds,
I am am awakened and violently moved
from my murky, muddy resting place
to reunite with the river’s unpredictable current.
Like a conductor with her orchestra,
the late afternoon sun directs
a once tired sharp edged stone
to sing its sweetest song
of radiance and sparkly colors
so that the boy may recognize
and participate drink in its magnificence. T
Because rivers and storms
always find an amicable solution,
I am eventually placed on a pebbled shore
where a curious child hungrily seeking
the next addition to his beloved rock collection
The boy will witness the orchestration
of the sun’s end-of-day finale.
It’s song sweetly expressed
through newly discovered
sparkly radiant colors,
that before this moment in time,
did not exist.
With the excitement of a grand discovery,
a rock collecting child will scoop me up,
admire my glassy smooth surface
that sparkles brightly with the colors
only found in the landscape of his dreams.
Me, the once ugly self-love deficient stone
is lovingly deposited in the boy’s shirt pocket,
to remain close to his gently beating heart
where I will always rejoice at my beauty,
as it interacts the another’s arm loving heart
Ross Rosenberg 4/23/06