I will be watered to my roots

A pale sun burning through the mist, 

the soft clouds barely visible in the gray, blue sky... 

Looking up the river I saw a bolt of lightning, 

an arrow from the sky that pierced the earth.

A soft rain comes down from the gray sky, 

and sullen thunder rolls into the distance.  

My spirit drinks in the rain like the plants do.  

I will be watered to my roots.

It is suddenly full summer.  

We look out from leafy trees.

The fragrance of wild grape and honeysuckle 

flowers drifts through the air.  

You enter and leave currents of it as you go along the paths.

In the leafy woods there is such contrast to the sunlight

 that the shade is like twilight, 

like going down into a deep ravine.  

The pale green of the jewel weed is ghostly... 

Then to hear the thrush singing on the hill above...

I think I saw the first green heron.  

Yes.

~ Harlan Hubbard 

from his journals, taken here from

"Harlan Hubbard and the River - A Visionary Life"

by Don Wallis