Hanging down from the porch
over the mighty canyon,
a dredge through the earth.
Deep winter above,
the snow flies, the wind blows.
The time passes by
and the icicle grows.
Larger and heavier
the weight increasing
until finally, with a gust and crack
it snaps and falls.
Falling for seconds,
down into the divot
past walls of solid rock
that govern its path.
Then it crashes into the river below
into the foam, the cold currents
that smash against rocks and tree trunks.
Slowly it melts away.
But does it away? It’s fundamentals
remain the same- the state changes.
Now that which hung in balance before
is part of a greater turbulence
that governs its path.
Further along, as time passes.
The river slows.
The grass alongside grows
and the suns rays warm the cool shallows
where children play.
But as the seasons change
the winds again blow.
and on a blade of grass
there forms a bead of ice- the same
as that which fell so long ago.
So are things the same? I believe
but there is a change.
Experiences of love, loss,
repression, regression, reversion to old habits
but new meters.
This is a different icicle.
But still altogether the same.
No longer dangling over a precipice,
now the waters are cool and calm.
We like to think we’ve changed.
But we are the same…..
~!~ A spoken Word is a Moment. A written Word is Eternal ~!~