Sunshine hits the back of my hands
and reflects into sand-banked fresh water –
The water hole stares back at me,
softly twinkling.
There’s the smell of forgone
bush tucker campfires
and the sound of zebra finch nestling
into nearby scrubs –
darting back and forth,
for that ever-lasting drop of hydration.
There’s a stillness, too,
as gums glisten and the red rock
almost hides the afternoon sun.
I’m reminded when
I visited the water hole previously –
once it was with my parents,
showcasing my new surrounds,
and we ran into a poetry friend.
The town was still sombre after a tragedy
and this fresh-faced friend dove straight into the water,
fully clothed in a red dress
and lipstick to match.
Once I came here with a visitor mourning
the passing of her father –
so she could reverse the pace of daily life
and soak up the peace.
And once I came here with
a new group of friends –
forging ties that would coax us through
our collective journeys working in Mparntwe.
So I’ve come to think that maybe,
in the stillness,
there are healing powers.
Maybe in the presence of beauty,
serenity can be found, if,
like a Zebra finch,
we can dip our toes and rehydrate,
fill ourselves with tranquillity,
small and subtle drops of life.
If like lizards we can soak up the sun –
in that season just before
it beats down with oppression.
If like tiny fresh water fish
we can zoom under the water’s surface –
entering a new layer
of chosen voicelessness.
I will return again – of course,
on my search for personal serenity.
With the gentle knowledge
that I can come here –
at mercy of the water’s reflection –
and receive,
with such wonder,
replenishing healing powers.
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