The Bridge

Alone on an ancient stone bridge high above the falls

a pulmonary season surrounds me—

mist clings to my skin—

water cascades over boulders, one level to the next.

I listen to this mighty conduit of life stream through an earth

breathing wetly, breathing hard. 

Near me a tree is halfway through its ten-year tumble—

mighty roots reach out for faltering earth.

I look deeply into the growing cavern ‘neath the tree

to see only layer after layer of leaf mould,

and the memory of small habitats. 

Worms tunnel toward an unseen precipice—

about to experience the unconfined freedom of open air

and the extreme pull of gravity.

Someday root, leaf and bough will join the little aeronauts,

heaving out of the dirt and into the void,

creaking, cracking into green water far below. 

But for now the roar of ancient water showers us all

with peace,

and an eroding, evanescent beauty. 

--------------------------------------------------(rhonda)