Back Eddies

                                                Back eddies, those points along the stream where the a thread of current spins round on itself. 

Usually you spot them along the bank, where an obstruction intervenes, could be a stone or perhaps a tree (willow splitting open?) fallen over. Part of the current has to shift and centrifugal forces take over. The bank, if soft enough, and the obstruction persistent, will be nibbled away at and the depths of the pool-ette scoured out by the slick winter flows. 

I imagine the word  'pool-ette' to evoke not much more than a bump in the current. 'Pool' sounds too grand affair for what I have in mind; stretch your arms out a way, about that wide. 

An edge, a wavering crease, is formed where the slack backing up water meets the main flow. It's a peaceful place.

 Anything that is less dense than water will float, more or less. More or less will suffice for it to be carried along by the current. Be it a leaf, a twig, a stiffened fish or a feather; if it catches the edge it will be swept into the back eddy, and destined to revolve around and around. Helplessly spinning, being bound by a gossamer binding of energy. Borne along stripped bare, a Vetruvian catherine wheel of flesh and bone, careering through time and space. Which one is circling the sun and moon?  Perhaps just waiting for a surge to blow along, and so empty this web's bounty into the future unknown.

Last night it rained in torrents

Still the clouds linger on

Reluctant to leave the earth.

Slowly closing the door

With barely a blush of sound-

The cat snores on.

Water –

revealing her form

according to the landscape

she forms in her flowing,

the river’s river runs

from mountain

to sea.

These hands carry memory,

As if words trying to express

The unfolding essence of heart-

The cry of the crow at dawn.