The Water Falls by Barry B. Wright

waterfalls-in-the-woodsThunder! The storm clouds gather.

A grosbeak valiantly circles overhead.

When this journey began, my hope was painted against an azure sky when the sun was high and the scent of pine and meadow flowers copiously filled the air.

Many times I have stood at the forest’s edge and let the sweetness and magic of its promise draw me in.

But, today, I hear distant drums heralding a coming storm, it marches across the glen. Have I languished too long? Will my peaceful tranquility feel the coldness of its blade?

My pace quickens, not outward but inward to the sanctuary of the camaraderie of the woods.

Briefly, the path is sprinkled with dabbled sunlight that spotlights a yellow-black spider spinning its web between milkweeds.  An arduous task filled with purpose and hope in advance of the storm.

An ozone scent slides into me. I inhale deeply. In the innocence of my youth, I celebrated the normalcy of its breath but now I only feel sadness and fear.

The die is cast. How long will it last? While the once proud Northern Holy Fern, Walking Fern, Maidenhair Spleenwort Fern and orchids are compelled to hide in its inky bloom.

The gentle breeze lulled my senses; illusions in sunshine blinded my ears while my mind chose what was and not what is among my peers.

Tree trunks cry out; their struggle barely audible above the bellowing noise of the angry wind; their limbs scratch furiously at the sky; strongly with purpose they fight against their bully.

My hypothalamus drives me in earnest to my haven hidden in the hollow round the bend. The tumultuous journey of a storyteller, its story not easily told, arrived long before I was born. I had to see beyond its beauty and be disposed to undertake a promise never to refrain from learning its message riding full rein.

Everything begins one day, that’s just the way it is. Where it starts is rarely where it is. Tomorrow bleeds into tomorrow. If you take notice, pay attention, bear witness and commit, today does not have to be a cellophane footnote as part of the compass in your kit. Choices form the North Star to the future that fits.

Unimaginable yesterdays brought me to the rock where I sit. Before me the stalwart waterfall’s music flows. Though its majestic structure may have been decreed, adjudicated and arranged by forces beyond its control, its conclusion has not been clinched.

Voices and outstretched hands not emptied of hope ride with anguished arrow to my home.

And the falling water asks me as it has done so many times before: Will you stand against the storm?

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Fallingwater – A Write at the Merge Prompt

Word Prompt: Wonder

Fallingwater

Fallingwater

It all begins with a thought, a question and an ability to act.

“Damn! DAMN!” Edgar rolled over and pulled the pillow tightly over his head to block out the sounds of passing vehicles.

Their ‘country home,’ as they called it, was only large enough for Edgar Junior’s crib and the two of them, provided they didn’t want to sit down.

“Are you alright, dear?” whispered his wife, Liliane.

“Oh…I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t. I’ve been awake for awhile.”

Edgar tossed the pillow into the corner of the screened-in porch before sitting at the edge of the cot facing her. “How long have we been coming up here, 10, 15 years?” Picking up his spectacles from atop the novel “Work of Art” by Sinclair Lewis on the floor beside his cot, he put them on.

Pushing her pillow under her, she propped herself up with her elbows. “It’ll be twelve, tomorrow.”

“Now how do you know that?” He struck a match and lit the kerosene lamp on the table between them.

“When we closed on this property our neighbor’s daughter had just turned two. She’s now fourteen.”

Edgar cupped his hand behind his ear. “Do you hear that?” Liliane looked at him with a puzzled look. “Except for the water falls, there’s no passing trucks or cars, just this fresh air and the serenity of the countryside.” He began to softly stroke the back of her head. “Remember when we opened this property up to our employees as a summer camp?” She nodded.  “This damn Depression changed that. Now, their daily living has become so hard they can’t come anymore. Few people can afford the $1 round trip fare by train from the “Smoky City.”

Throwing back the light sheet covering her, Liliane swung her legs over the side of her cot and sat up facing him. “Yes, we’ve done well, but we’ve worked hard for it.”

“And, we’ve been lucky.”

Taking his hands in hers she smiled and said: “Yes, that too, but it doesn’t hurt to have the most elegant and exciting store in Pittsburgh.”

“No, I guess not,” he replied, smirking.

“So what’s really on your mind?”

“It’s the increased noise level since they paved that road. We’ve either got to sell this property or build a proper home.”

“Sell Bear Run? No way!”

“I thought as much… Liliane?… I’ve already retained an architect.”

“You have?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Who?”

“Frank Lloyd Wright.”

By 1935, the design had been agreed on and construction of the main house had been completed by 1938. Frank Lloyd Wright incorporated their love of nature and the waterfalls by building part of their home on top of the waterfalls.

“The sound of the waterfalls is soothing,” Liliane said, placing her cup and saucer on the table beside her. “You’re not too disappointed, are you?”

“You mean missing the view of the falls? No, not really. It drowns out the sound of the passing vehicles.”

“No wonder you look so pleased with yourself.”