My friend lives out of town & has no running water. She must draw it from a wild stream. The water has the freshest, most exhilarating taste I have ever experienced. She wrote me this poem:
i met you for the second time
plastic bucket walled with ice
hanging from the stark willow hand
above a now thickened rectangular entry
that someone chopped out in haste (or care)
it may really not have mattered to them
just to get your water
but as long as i say thanks.
different than the first time
more vehicle tracks and another scoop show your use
many layers of snow and spilt water
making it hard to reach within the depths
on my knees plunging a five gallon jug
with not yet frozen hands
and I wonder if I'll be able to come to you again,
Stony Creek?
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