I saw this line somewhere this morning, - or perhaps it was penned in my imagination- and it seemed to bring forth a gush of hidden treasures of thought. In my mind’s eye I could see a stooped old fellow in a tweed jacket, a bit anxious in his need to cross a narrow creek. He slowly walks up and down a short stretch of the bank, looking for that narrowest spot where the rocks he would have to jump to were the fewest. He finds it, but instead of the bold steps of a younger man, he timidly –even frightfully pushes his foot out to touch the first of the stepping stones.
Can you see him? He is anxious and glad in one way – as if recognizing an adventure, but in another way he is frightened of a fall among the rocks. He is old and his bones are fragile now. Things hurt more now. But dang! There’s only four rocks between him and the opposite shore, and even though they are wet; after all! the stream is not that deep……
The Crossing
© By
Rick Mortimer
The stream –too wide to jump at once
Some stones to hop upon
Three pounces and I’m over
Then o’re the trail I’ll carry on.
But I see the stones are shiny
With the spray from off the creek
The goal’s but to get across
Not slip and wet my feet.
My mind says rocks are solid
Not slippery when they’re dry
But these all shine with wetness
I wonder…should I try?
I gaze upstream, then downstream too
To find another trail
But here’s the only place to cross
…I wonder if I’ll fail.
I really need to get across
This rippling narrow creek
And so I take a final breath
And then I make my leap.
The first rock almost tipped me
The second moved, I’d bet
The third I missed completely
And now I’m soaking wet.
The stream –too far to jump across
Some stones to jump upon
I knew wet stones where slippery
What was I betting on?
All my life I’ll face such stones
At each crossroad on my path
Will I succeed and win the day?
Or will I just make a splash?
September 1st, 09
