The spirits are strong here.
"Here, here, here," sings the crow
from three places I can't trace.
In Appalachia water is everything,
and here in Herrin Cove, She is audible.
She runs, she runs, and honoring her,
from bits of earth in rocky crags
grow mosses, ground covers,
full-bearing blueberries and elder.
Far below are a thousand worlds,
where too, a waterfall rushes unseen by men.
Beneath each tree is a unique world, a home to many,
and the cove is spring-off point to bear, wolf and panther.
Lymph she is, this speaking water, underpinning all this green.
Wind comes upmountain, as chill as August can be.
Why don't I just lean back and sleep,
awash in the eternal water,
Annelinde Metzner copyright 2003