Posted by: highmountainmuse | October 17, 2009

Ruth’s River

Looking down from a distance at the headwaters of the Rio Grande

Looking down from a distance at the headwaters of the Rio Grande

Your river calls you, sings softly to you, lures you like the Piper

And into her arms you go and flow

Enwrapped like a sleeping babe

Your toes curl and dig in warm sands


My river is cold

Kept and far away

Though right there before me

She allows me to look but not touch

Her icy depths go unfound


She does not beckon me

But chants to me in the distant hours

In a lonely wail of wild ways

And ancient wisdom where earth and sky merge

Full of answers for which I know not even the questions

And still I ask

And still I stare

And still I remain before her

And appeal for more



  1. And her fluid ice is elixir for those whose grace and fire withstand the fiercer journeys of life, cooling scorched places deep within.

    You are her question, spoken in the waking hour by the living of your life, whispering silent wonderings in the dark and carrying her song like seeds to the morning light. To grow the fields of nourishment.

    Though her words are truly unspeakable, we river-whisperers carry the ancient wisdom in our deep longing to understand her chant, spilling feasts. Made more human by the quest.

  2. Well, shoot, Ruth…
    Your words…
    I think I’ll stick to baking bread.

  3. you better not! your words are liquid gold!

  4. Says she…

  5. nooo….says WE. You are the singer over the bones, wild woman. Your words breathe life, inspire me into expression and I spill here a mirror of who you are. You are beauty and it comes out my fingers a response to wonderful poetic flow-you.

    Says we…

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