by Michael Plante

So grey I cannot see anything…
fog all around me; stings my eyes.
Droplets form, then run down my cheeks
falling from my chin to the ground below.
There is a chill in my heart.
I ask my Creator, “Am I alive or dead”?
There is no response.

I hold a staff in my right hand
made of black oak and crafted with details carved by strong hands.
Its my pride for each detail holds time
each mark represents a battle won
each one tells a story.

I stand in the grey
far off in the distance I hear a rumble.
I say to myself, “An old friend is coming.”
And the chill in my heart deepens.

I pull a memory from long ago
a lesson taught; a lesson earned.
When I was but a child I was tossed into a river
churning waters pulling life beneath the waterline
bashing against the riverbank.
Violence fortifies the spirit
or renders it useless.
for what good is a spirit that does not battle back?

A mile of river I battled
my young body hitting boulders and stones hidden beneath the waterline
floating debris tearing my skin, and the river’s edge escaping my grasp
muddy water tastes like death.
Never let go of life, a voice in my head whispers.
Fight every moment.

A large branch floats next to me
I take hold of it with an idea.
Sinking one end to the riverbed
it catches a boulder and propels me to the edge of the bank
wherein I land on my back.
Holding the branch I stare up at the sky.
I say to myself, “What a beautiful day it is.”

My body is battered and bruised
my open wounds seep my life force
You are alive.
I tend to my wounds and abrasions
then walk back to where I live.
My father smiling as I arrive
for the lesson he taught me will last a lifetime.

That is the memory I hold,
the smile of admiration as the sun sinks low.
He is the silhouette of my existence
I am the pride he calls son.

And now I stand in the grey
as thunder rolls across the land.
The lightening will crash down
attempting to invoke a deep fear within.
Yet I fear not
for I stand with my scars and my staff.
The same staff that propelled me out of the river.
The air tastes like muddy water.
I am ready.

Image: Flash Flooding Turns Calm River Into Raging Torrent
Source: Freepix