The Secret of the Waterfall
by Kristi Clark
THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL
The groaning world shakes in uproar, and
I can no longer discern the way ahead. I stand
at the vanishing path that was once so sure,
as if somehow, I can find direction there.
Nearby, sparrows flicker in the sun-washed field,
as they flit about the ground. Their forage yield
just enough manna for this moment, giving
an oblivious praise-song their very living.
Crimson leaves lift gilt edges to catch my gaze,
each beckoning tree a burning bush ablaze,
and suddenly I feel the need to remove my shoes,
as the wind whispers amid their fiery hues.
It takes me to the river, to the secret place
where glory tumbles over rocks in scandalous waste,
and mist rises in a million hallelujahs—here
where there is no need for words nor fear.
I await assurance from a still small voice,
but there is only quiet Presence beneath the noise.
Then this at last relieves my trepidation:
a waterfall needs no explanation.