Poem: Flood

Flood

It rains,
day after day of grey autumn
that floods the creeks
with painful water,
erodes the bridges,
tears at foundations and bridges
both physical and of the soul.

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The photography was taken in Rupert, Vermont, the next town over from me. You can click on it for a larger version. If you do, you can get some idea of the power of the flooding. This corn is in a field where the water had to come up over 7-8 feet from the creek (that's right, creek, not river) to even get to this field, much less come over in such force it could mow the corn down.

I like the sole stalk, still standing, in defiance of the storm. That stalk represents Vermonters to me in this time of recovery.

Tom

Poem: Washington's Wineskin

Washington's Wineskin

The old wineskin hangs on the wall,
it's leather warm and dusky,
the veteran of campaigns
born of war and the aftermath,

always held close
against the time of drought
that comes to all lives.
You reach out, knowing it is forbidden

to touch the artifact hung so artfully on the wall.
The the draw is irresistible,
as if his energy, his ability to endure failure
and suffering to emerge finally

as something more that a survivor,
can be transferred, like those who touched
Jesus' robe, and were healed.

Your fingers brush the leather
and there is no magic, save
another reminder that you can, and you will,
live.

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The picture really is of one of George Washington's wineskins, from Mount, Vernon, Va. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom