The Kawishiwi River—May, 1996

Some paper

And a pen,

A convenient rock

To sit upon,

Alone with my thoughts.

I witness nature

As Spring

Is forced upon the land.

A host of clouds

Above me,

A biblical genesis

In grey and silver,

Marches over me

In cadence with the wind’s

Relentless

Rhythmic crescendo.

Intermittent shards

Of soft blue sky

Bound the marchers

In their battalions

And regiments

Backward to eternity,

Forward to infinity,

And beyond.

The mortal land

Beneath me,

Lonely survivor

Of past conflicts

Unnumbered

Abides me

And all else

That holds it dear.

Stoic, the land,

And passive,

Steadfastly confident,

Indifferent to me,

To my kind

And the besieging armies

Arrayed before it.

Yet. . . .

Ever the waves

Assault the shore.

Rank upon rank

Of shapeless, merciless

Platoons of determined effort

To which the land

Will one day

Succumb.

Wind and water

Surround me,

Embroiled in a passionate

Communion of power.

Briefly,

The wind pauses,

As to inhale,

Or, simply to take a breath.

In that instant

I know

I belong, here,

On my rock,

With some paper

And a pen, Bearing witness,

Alone with my thoughts.

Robert Wesley

Family and Community Medicine