The river starts in the winter when the hills trap snow in holes, pits and shallow shadowy prisons. When the nights are still long - as long as they can possibly be - a voice cries “Restore!” and the mountain responds.
The icy caverns are opened and the hidden water-blessings interned there climb quickly parapets of polished stone to fall white and true into the freedom of new days. Always falling, flowing down, the stream is refreshed by simple sunshine and fresh forest breezes and is filtered sweet by the humble highland grasses that grow in the grey-white gravel that edges the creek banks.
And, gathering in rocky pools where the trout can swim and the sparrows drink, the waters pause just a little while to enjoy the life within them and the lives they enrich. For when the spring rains come, the river basin fills and the waters run full and wild down the valley and out into the world – the way they are meant to go.
And when the days get long – as long as they can possibly be - the river relaxes; its headwaters curl up in the alpine wetlands and the stream peeks out over the granite ledges to gaze at the wildflowers that decorate the high meadows.
This river rests but is never still. It is always bringing water to the thirsty.
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Isaiah 41 and 42.
May 7, 2014
