the sun still stern

In the heat of dry August
the smell of water, drawn

Off the cinder heat and led

To the stilly glade, I stepped onward

Where ferns uncurled in a deep and cooling shade,

Among softer ground followed senses

Until a fervent sound revealed a flow.

As the water fell it played
A song from the heart of the stone.

Trembled and dirty
I rinsed palms to forge a cup
And the water filled the parched edge;
Lips and tongue rejoice as the cool wetness
Subside the yearning burn of hours in want.

I revelled in the aspect of an ancient rock
Slate gray and lichen dressing
Pushed up from the womb of the world
Long before the fire in her belly cooled
And she became the Old Mother.

I drank until I could do no more
And filled anything that could hold
But the cold blessing I’d felt
That relieved a deathsome dry
Would never be again,
As it had never been before.

The sun still stern
And rising like the beat of the cicadas
The burning orb that turned my vision red
And spun me to ground
Now seemed tame;  out of the cool
Its touch was welcomed again
For the voice of the stone
Had soothed me
It set my path to know
What the nature of man can be,
And need of water and want;

Finding the faint prayer's answer,
It was a truth of sun and life.