McConnell's Mill

I drifted further away
Than I intended to today
And I cannot deny
I so enjoyed the ride
Down old, familiar, childhood mind
Fixated on creation,
Focused on pure fantasy,
Oblivious to impending reality.
Blue herons, waterfalls,
Gentle wispy hemlocks,
Glacier-torn jumbles
Of primeval Earthly Bones,
Ferns and fairies,
Quicksand pits to poke with sticks,
Leaping ibex-style along the edges
Of white and rain-dimmed waters.

A girlchild, purple-clad, wild-haired,
Hunched over a patch of silt,
Intensely studying what no one else sees,
But for me, I know, I connect
Completely to this part of my being,
I disconnect with everything
Of great unimportance
To remember how grand the world can be.
To breathe in awe and exhale glory,
To just let the story write its own course
Down the mountain gorge.
The hushed and muffled rush
From beneath the covered bridge,
The bubble-bloop around mossy rocks
Dabbled and splashed in midstream.
Amazed by green and big
And air and clarity,
In tune with inside,
A part of outside,
Now and here and awake and alive.

So sweet, so soft, so comforting,
Warm and peace, inviting,
Shared by three generations
In the place it all began for me.
Now, home feels easier,
Lighter, more like sanctuary,
A building-up of good days
In a girlchild's future memories.