the sound of water

 

I fell in love with the sound of water. I was just a little girl, with my bright blue summer dress and pigtails in my hair, tripping over myself, collapsing into the homemade sandbox by the garden. I was in Vermont, at our summer camp, with its tin roof made of hollow melodies and the remembrance of rain. Brown siding emulated the deep hollow of a tree, and the house would blend into the woods, become the forest. I was no more than five, no less than ancient, and Grandma would take my hand and lead me down the dirt path to a bubbling stream. It trickled through the trees, and made music with the rocks and the leaves. I would stand there for hours, tossing pebbles into the water, watching them ripple on, extending forever.

A steep path of steps leads precariously down from the camp to the water’s edge. When I was very young, the steps were haphazard and constructed from pieces of logs and tree, cracked and housing hordes of tiny bug families. My slight five-year-old feet struggled at each step, and the journey to the water was interminable. Yet with the perseverance of a duck determined to waddle, I took this journey every day, sometimes twice. One step at a time, little feet reaching down to the next ledge, sometimes slipping, sometimes falling, always encompassed by the sheer everything around me.

The final step would eventually arrive. The handmade dock would be swaying and pitching in the water, and it would take me a good courage-collecting minute to step from solid earth to swaying wood. Then I would lie upon that dock and touch my fingers to the water, fingertips dancing beneath the surface, feelings its coolness, its promise. I would always search deeper, overturning rocks and unearthing disgruntled crayfish. If the moment was secure, I would reach out and touch one, then squeal with a heady mixture of fear and delight.

 

The water held secrets, and pieces of my soul. To this day, I listen to the way it caresses the shoreline, lapping against the earth’s edge. On stormier days, the water’s embrace is harsher, more insistent. Yet always it holds pieces of grace, and something close to forgiveness.

The water is rhythmic and reminds me of all the things my soul has been whispering for years. I am far from my five-year-old self, and yet I sense her there, drawn to the water’s edge. I descend those steps to the water; no longer afraid of the journey yet the distance to the dock is just as far. However, when I reach it, I have never been so far away. Now, there is no end to the descent, as when I was a girl. For when little Karabelle arrived, she always breathed a sigh, flopped down upon her belly and giggled, her fingers converging with the endless expanse of lake.

Now, I gaze down at my feet, startled by how far they are from my head. My fingers tingle, but they never touch the water.

I am relearning the strength it takes to bend my knees and reach the ground; to allow myself that surrender to the land around me. The sound of the water is no less palpable, less strong, than it has ever been. A hundred feet from shore, I can still feel its pull upon my heart, as though untangling the cobwebs and releasing forgotten dreams. The river is ancient, and therefore stirs ancient awareness in me.

Aware of my infinite possibilities, I search for that place where air meets water, and hope bubbles up to the surface and expands. Eventually, fingertips will break through the boundary once more, and I will remember how it feels to be immersed within this world.

Years later, I would walk that dirt road and realize the stream had dried up. To this day, I stand in the same spot I stood as a child, and imagine the water still flowing, wondering how something so alive could fade so easily away. There are other streams nearby – larger, prettier streams, but this stream had been mine while Grandma held my hand and passed me pebbles.

Reviews

[Treasaigh (The Solitar..]

What an endearing story. You have such amazing insight. Truly wise beyond your years Kara. I'm quite certain you could envoke beauty from just about anything you wish. You have a true gift.
Your eloquence and talent for writing is hard to match. You make everything beautiful. You're a great writer Kara=)

[Richard K]

I could picture it all so vividly, Kara. It made me smile and relate, there's something about that sound. The sound of flowing water clashing against the shore. :) Things change so much, but we'll always be the same at the core of our souls.

I guess it's just all about keeping in touch with ourselves.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This was a great write. I wrote a poem awhile back entitled White Noise which refers to my own love of water and the sounds it makes in all its many forms, so I related very well to this. This is on a more personal and intimate level here though. Your writing as always is just superb.

[Clint Hale]

"wondering how something so alive could fade so easily away."

My favorite line ;)

Great job!

[Larissa G.]

I am impressed by the story, by the depth its brief images have to convey and share. I hope you keep writing, I look forward to reading more ideas from you. The story is very striking, beautiful, and relateable on many levels.

My single complaint from the beginning:

"As a little girl, with my bright blue summer dress and pigtails in my hair, tripping over myself, collapsing into the homemade sandbox by the garden."

The sentence seems a bit long. It would be best to split it up into two, if possible.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Oh Kara your story is so tranquil and serene... I could picture little Karabelle enjoying the water... I too love the water and the sounds it makes in motion... funny how we can go back to those particular places and remember those carefree times this beautiful story show why I am such a Karaholic.

[Adela Muresan]

,,There are other streams nearby, larger streams, prettier streams � but this stream had been mine while Grandma held my hand and passed me pebbles.,,

You illustrated the love for the childhood memories, so beautifully! It's a real shame the stream is no longer there � but that doesn't make the story any less lovely.

Good write.

A.M.

[wizthom]

WOW LADY if only all valued the life force of water, as you do ,we as a race of people would realize the importance of keeping life flowing,plants growing ,the birds singings,and little boys and girls face pressed up against the window seal on a rainy day lost in imagination.in hopes of following a pop sickle stick that is a ship to the ocean of joy,and paradise of life.thanks as i read your write i could see myself singing in the rain,watching the ocean tide come in,as the waves of life made true my every fantasy,i love ur innocents and free spirit they are the colors u bring to all you write,,please don't change for we as humans need the yesterday and faith u bring to life in words on paper,peace wizthom,,ps are u a water sign?

[Kelly D. Burris]

Wow, this really reminds me of some summer trips we took. I love the water and those memories. Something soothing and calming to the spirit. No matter how old you grow in live there are still some basic and simple things that still ground us to the core of who we are, children of the creator walking thru His beautiful creation. The trick is to keep enjoying it all as we go thru life and not loose focus on it.
Thanks for sharing! :)

[Mr. Lopez]

When you write a book ( not if ) I will be there to buy it. Your writing is always a pleasure to read. I really liked the last two paragraphs although the whole piece is great.

[robin]

I really enjoyed this and my favorite words are these...

The water held secrets, and it held pieces of my soul. I still listen to the way it caresses the shoreline, gently lapping against the earth's edge. On stormier days, the water's embrace is harsher, more insistent. Yet always it holds pieces of grace, and something close to forgiveness.

Overall, this story has wonderful wholeness of time and place, I can feel the textures of the memories, yet it's almost as simple as a letter to home...Subtle and masterful serendipity! Art that like truth, cannot be denied.
And I'm not gloating,
Robin

Robin