A huge boulder blocks the stream.
Years ago, it suddenly broke loose from
somewhere up the hill
and rolled into place,
unexpectedly obstructing flow;
seemingly immovable.
And just like that:
the old path of the stream was gone,
for what we humans call,
“forever”
The valley mourned the loss of the creek’s path.
For a while, life stopped.
The water backed up against the boulder
and the valley went thirsty.
Part of you is still stuck behind the rock.
Like, if you stop pushing against it,
trying to move it, then
that must mean you want it there?
wanted it to happen?
You keep crashing and bashing against it,
even though it hurts.
Maybe even
because it hurts.
As if, you deserve to suffer
(The pain, an echo from the day the boulder arrived?)
For some reason you are not allowed to heal
As if that would betray…someone.
Betray who?
The boulder?
The echo?
The pain?
Heck,
Maybe it’s working.
Maybe all your toil on the rock has worn and smoothed its edges.
Maybe, to brush up against it no longer cuts and bruises.
Good ol rock,
might feel good to go around it now.
And the mountains will capture more rain and snow.
And the springs will continue to burbble.
And the streams will smooth the stone.
And the valleys below will rejoice.
You are the mountains, with many valleys, streams, and rocks.
-Mat Mendonca
Mat Mendonca lives in Oregon with a person that makes everything better, and her chihuahua. He spends much of his time doing for himself what money buys; time that could be spent making money. Otherwise, he toils at keeping up with the muses of music, prose, and the single-frame cartoon.
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