River Metamorphosis

 

The day the River Metamorphosis began was peculiar. The local grocery and variety stores all sold out of hot dogs and tea biscuits at eleven in the morning. The licorice beer out sold the spiced walnut beer two to one at the LCBO. To top things off, most of the hail that fell at 9:00 a.m. was bright pink instead of lime green. No one even commented on the cow in front of the local Timmy’s.

It was recorded that the Metamorphosis began after the twelve or so moose finished their choral along the shoreline of the river. It was also recorded that there was no one there to witness either event. This has led to speculation that the River Metamorphosis was just hearsaw ( much like hearsay, but with a different perspective on implied space ); in any case, the transformation began with paper.

 

 

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Patched taped river currents

flow towards the closed mouth

of Silence .

Tumbling over

slow shoals

of reticence -reminiscing

about remaining rectitude in turpitude

of turpentine tomorrows.

Tape cracks and colours shift

in the light of blazing Fall’s Beatitudes.

 

Behind the screen

of the River Metamorphosis –

a spiritual solvent bubbles up – a source of metaphysical materials for organic synthesis of the soul’s memory of forgetfulness. Trees turn to paper, paper turns to Machine’s Metal. The River turns the bend to become part of the Machine, like the cow in front of the Doughnut Stop , an insignificant event………that was ignored in passing.

 

Now the Paper Maker and the Machinist were good friends since boyhood, but it so happened that they fell in love with the same Lady Faire, The River. They would go down to her banks to fish and watch the arrival of the wild geese in the Spring and their departure in the Fall.

 

 

When she would wrap herself in Winter’s embrace and sleep the slow cold sleep, the two would think of her beauty and seek some way to capture her heart. Of course all in the village thought this a waste of their time, for such fine young eligible men as they to seek the love of The River. The young maids of the village were especially peeved to compete with The River for husbands. They were by far better equipped to handle the passions & dreams of those young dependable men than a tireless river.

 

So it came to pass, as it often does in tales such as these, that under the Moon of May the maids of the Village beseeched the Silver Maid of the Night Sky to aid them. And is so often the way in such turn of events, both young men worked their skills with their chosen materials that very night and both attempted to make use of the moon beams and star light to fashion their best offering to the River.

 

As can be imagined, the combined wishes of all were intertwined by moon light. Both young men left their homes to dwell far from the village in which they were born, each to seek their fortune in a different larger community. Each did, in his own time, select a true love to share his life, passions and dreams.

 

As to the River, you may find it engraved in metal or woven and printed in paper, but you can not find it if you walk the earth, for now it only flows in dreams beneath the moonlight. They say the maids in the village found other men to marry, but that is another tale.

Paper river flows –

Past imagination’s shores –

Moonlight’s bright metal.