Science tells me that I am mainly a body of water.
60% or so at my age.
Which explains why there are some days
that I wake feeling like a mighty roiling ocean,
powerful and deep, holding a myriad of marvels
and untold beauty beneath, dancing to the call
of the moonlight and reflecting all the magical
rainbow glimmers of the sun.
Then there are others when I’m more of a narrow creek
trickling down a gently sloping mountain,
happy to fill the air with a quiet symphony
of lapping over rock, and communing with frogs and minnows.
In between I’m a stoic river with a mission
to carry all of the barges and salmon I can,
feeling necessary and important
when considered useful.
Last come the lonely puddle days,
thankfully fewer and farther between.
Muddy days when I feel stepped on
and splashed apart, drops of me landing everywhere
other than where what’s left of me was.
And then I remember to rise.
Into the air to join all the other tiny bodies,
molecules who condense and with the help of others,
become themselves again and have the invisible strength
to hold life, nurture growth and smooth rock.
Bruce Lee had it right. “ Be water my friend.” Flow…