Mountain Pool

Summer thunderstorms washed out large portions of the creek bank, uprooted massive sycamores and hurled red clay debris balls downstream. Exposed roots hid behind tangled grapevines and fallen limbs, and boulders plummeted from generations of rest. The spring fed creek was mountain cold and even though the path altered, it still fed the lazy Buffalo River in the distance.

Trees still green and alive lay over the old farm road, as if to say they were simply tired of the onslaught. The damage was devastating, the destruction overwhelming and the erosion to the bank under the house perched above was a slow start to catastrophe. This was a land where more life teemed in the creek and river than people above.

Yet, like a rainbow after a storm, the mountain pool emerged. It was clear to the yellow sand below, and a shaft of light danced off crushed brown rock penetrating emerald depths and spotlighting baby trout. Downed sycamores arched protective branches above and the pool mirrored the encircled forest. Standing in its midst, the frigid water penetrated my skin beyond bone and into my soul. I was the first to stand beneath the bluff in its icy depths and swim with the fish. As I surveyed the damage visible from all angles, I felt the baby trout nibble my legs. Turning my attention into the creek, I stood transfixed as fish swam all around me.

I imagined this place reflecting autumn colors and could picture leaves, golden and red, floating downstream. I could feel the harsh winter wind whipping around the curve of the bluff sending stray branches hurrying down the road, and I could see the spring pink honeysuckle give way to the summer sweet peas, wild violets, black eyed susans and Queen Anne ’s lace.

If peace had a color, it would be the color of this creek as the light moved and shadows emerged revealing more secrets. It was green and blue and brown and yellow. It was murky and clear. It was still and flowing, it was life and death, and it was controlled power and chaos. A leaf, foreshadowing the seasons ahead, landed on the water by my hand. It was then I realized that peace does have color and I was standing among its cadence. Peace was the green leaves, white bark and brown earth. Peace shimmered in sun rays filtering living particles of movement. Peace reflected off the red tin roof above. This house might fall into the creek one day, but it would not be this day. Bending over, I put my face onto the water and stared into the eyes of the fish below.