Big Creek calls us

of power and water

sixteen middle school students, 

four adults,

and a bright sun

share the air that is so clear and frenzied

that every leaf on faraway trees dances,

as if each is the star within the group,

green torrents of water tumble out of the power plant,

after whirring turbines to release electricity 

for our needs and for our indulgences,

the old channel who once held a proud river,

now summer calm and still,

only a trickle free to seek the sea the old way,

the churning water and rushing wind

mask the heavy truck traffic on the interstate across the river,

rafters pull us to them

till Big Creek pulls us away,

once there, water calls to the kid in each of the students,

till one slips, as if to bow to the inevitable,

the dryer needs electricity from somewhere

to repair the accidental dousing.

by Henry H. Walker

May 20, ‘19