elizabethlevett

I’m sitting on the back steps in the darkening light of early evening.

Here in the yard there is a thirty-gallon barrel.

Right now it’s full of rainwater that poured out of the drainpipes off the roof during winter’s blessed downpours.

If I sit, just so, in a certain spot, I can look over at the surface of the water and see the silhouetted shadow of an oak branch laid across the golden reflection of houselights from curtained windows next door.

For some reason, when I stare at this untroubled water

I can almost hear the high and rhythmic squeak of the swing set

on a summer evening.

There were puddles on the ground and maybe soft light

from the kitchen or from a receding barbecue flame.

Maybe we’re playing kick the can till the streetlights come on.

Or maybe we’re collecting night crawlers to take fishing in the morning.

Maybe we’ll catch a bluegill or even that tough old bass that skulked along the muddy lake bottom.

It’s safe and cool and maybe

it’s even time to go in and get ready for bed.

The surface of water with light and color blinks back at me

with an image both careless and calm.

There are no words for this place I’m taken whenever I sit close to water.

There is only peace and pleasure in its depth.