Water Sounds by Kathryn Magendie

There are signs of spring on the mountain, and I’ve opened the windows and the front door to let in a brisk breeze. Green shoots are peeking, buds on trees; tiny awakenings. But what I notice most on my mountain walk is the water. Our creek is again singing louder, rushing wildly down to find the bigger creek to find the lake to find the ocean. Our creek has been ill lately, because of the drought in North Carolina.

It isn’t just the creek sounds that excite me, although I can now hear it even when my windows and doors are closed, just as I used to be able to. There are more water signs I’d forgotten about, one of which is along the road we walk in a shallow ditch where rainwater run-off flows. I’d forgotten water ran there, since it has been dry for so long. But there it is, clear and clean and cold. Kayla drinks from it, just as she used to. Jake watches it gurgle with his head cocked to one side, just as he used to.

I want to reach down and cup my hands, catch some of the mountain water, and splash it to my face—not yet; it’s still a bit too chilly for that, however, that day will come as the days grow warmer. If, and oh please let it be so, the drought continues to wane, the rains will come to our mountains and valleys and farms and yards, and into creeks streams rivers, all that feed into the ocean, all are connected, all are brother and sister, all will be replenished, fed, watered.

Back in my home, I stop what I'm doing and listen. The wind blows hard, setting the chimes to ringing, the branches to rubbing, the birds tittering, but beyond that I hear the roar of the creek and it is music music. I feel an affinity for all nature. A love that holds no grudges or boundaries, but oftentimes a hope when nature seems cruel. Nature does as it will without emotion; nature is what it is and to personify it is a disservice. There is only the way of the Earth, and today, I am grateful for its way, its voice, its song, its nurturing, its rain that brought my creek and rushing water back to the mountain—almost just as it was before the drought, almost, but still good…good.