22.6.2014 – river’s edge

by deanmelbourne

Beneath my boots is a stone still made up with clay , baked in the recent sun and a reminder that the river was recently inflamed and less welcoming than today.

Just beyond the ledge the sun strikes the apple green water and cuts through to reveal a world of minnows actively parenting among the rocks below the oozing slow water.

Only lifting my gaze a few degrees brings me to a work of flying insects. My knowledge lets me down but identification is an ownership game for fools. Here it is more important to “be” amongst dragons and damsels and their relations. Mesmerised and entranced by dancing flight. Forced to stillness by the magic of the place.

Around the bend of the river I hear children play at a weir , I hear parents announce rules and information. I’ll stay just here doing the most nothing I dare to do.

I have a puzzle to solve about artistic integrity , authenticity and self censorship for tastes sake. Taste is the enemy of art ?

There may be an answer in the river if I stare hard enough.