Tag Archives: water

111. Solid and Liquid (Juxtaposition 11)

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Reflected or real, which state is the true one? It is sometimes hard to say. And then there is water, which defies categorisation, being the source of life, the place we began, the stuff to crawl out of and run back to, splashing our own 97% into the shoreline. Creatures of change, the ripples feel more like home, the waving image a better reflection, perhaps, than the solidity of glass or the eternity of plastic.

text and photo © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2017

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Landscape of Love 91: Grotto

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Pale blue lady, aqua mantled, kindness gazing out from your alabaster face, carved deep into the rock and our hurting souls. You smile, and the world is changed. Adoring the love on your dappled skin, ripples of reflected grace, the water feels less cold somehow, though we are up to our necks; and the tide is of no concern, merely the sea breathing: in and out, in and out. A caverned womb of healing, where we might be knit together once more, and our stretched sinews feel the call to entwine and relax. We go under and rise again, replenished by the carrier of living water.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Photo from Pixabay

 

144: Waterfall

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The curtain calls, and I long to push through to the other side, out of the cavern and into the light beyond. But endless years hold me here and the fear of getting soaked prevails. Veils of cascading current, collected teardrops fallen from clouds of burden, here released into flow that intrigues my fiercely beating heart. Could I really come forth and join in the droplet dance? Is there a place for a human form amongst the pearls that leap joyfully from on high? May I stand, then, drenched in downfall and saturated by silver light?

Then I will dare, I will risk the chill and the wetting, I will rend the perfection of the membrane and be born again. I will stand and lift my head, open-mouthed to the flow and laugh with outstretched arms inside rampant rivulets of grace.

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

143: Estuary

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Sinking deep, stretching wide, belly fulsome with water, here lies a strange and fertile peace. More comings and goings than ever, a release and a welcome of tides, trading salt for fresh,  Living Water meeting Dead Sea; and yet, here a stillness in the expansive mud flats born at the edges and a freedom in the largeness to be anything and everything, as the oyster catchers burst upwards in a frantic flourish, spooked by movement, a spill of white paint on the canvas of a low horizon. Rainclouds crowding in to gaze at their own reflections in the vast bay, before migrating across the ocean on streams unseen.

A yawning place, opening out for exchange, greeting the foreign, pushing out the excess, learning the difference between empty and full and regretting neither. In and out, to and fro, back and forth, the unforced rhythms of grace are louder and softer here than in any place that was merely river.

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

138: Rivulet

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Unwanted, I imagine, hidden, invisible transparency, narrow as a ribbon. I flow, fast or slow, it doesn’t matter, no-one will notice. I make it over stones and round corners just because, well, it is either that or turn back on myself and sit pooled in the shadows. So on I go, the pain of inadequacy coiled in a core of current, wrapped round a vortex of sorrow, a limpid lamentation.

Yet it is only when I join my siblings; the others come from mountain high, thawed waters and collected tears shoved downhill; that we become a river and can own the name of our togetherness.

 

©Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

Day 122: Loch

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Calm expanse, mosquitoes brooding over the water, rippling where the cold Scottish breeze rolls in, my imagination skip-skimming across the dark surface like a stone. Salmon resting in your nooks, and who knows what monsters lie beneath, in the soft muddy dark, or how deep you really are? Swallowed plumb lines and carelessly held fishing rods, a few fallen oars too, no doubt, laying at the bottom in the rocky crevices, like meal remnants in the teeth of the real Leviathan, who breathes in the glittering light and dives in the dusk, the spirit of the loch.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015