It’s here.

This is about Pacific Spirit Park in Vancouver, during a recent very rainy couple of days.

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I found all the water of the world

It’s here, falling down, seeping up, rivulets in woody slides and shoots

Saturated lichen, soaking moss, creek-sides and hidden rocks, dripping hemlocks and doused cedars, shaking their arms over me in blessing

Mushrooms cling to bark and make steps for the squirrels, or whoever else might wish to ascend to the watery heavens

Now water crosses my path, I hop it gently, landing softly; the stumps observe and let me be, water braiding around its base

It’s here, all emerging, deep waters, nourishment for me and all the world in need; baptismal tubs, soaked — not in white but in every shade of green

It’s here, in the middle of the city that is chaotic and beautiful in its own way

For now I’ve left the sirens and the energetic hum and the forest swallows me whole, into a timeless density of chlorophyllic oxygenation, in a soundproofed room with a saturated roof which drips and sings and holds fast to good things; receiving my prayers

Can I share this water with the world and for those whom need it most?

For it is all here abundant, and free for the giving.