On Spring

Reynolds Nature Preserve, Georgia

Never have I cupped my hands

Under a spring

And brought the cool water

To my lips

To drink

My water has flown through pipes and faucets

And sometimes bottles

Marvels of modern technology, sure

But missing that deep, chthonic

Connection

Does it miss me, too?

Even in this lovely, verdant place

With its muted mosses

And crooked creeks

There are boundaries

No visitors permitted in the spring

Her disembodied voice tells me

I learn the history and the use

But not what makes this spot

So special

A gloriously unkempt butterfly garden

And the most marvelous creek

Straight out of Ireland

You can practically see the fairies

Dancing on the rocks

Celebrating the arrival of spring

With the gleeful fiddlehead ferns

Unfurling in joy

Can I unfurl in joy, too?

Stretch my arms up to the sky

In exuberance?

I tried it.

It felt pretty good,

I’d say.

The wind thinks so, too.