Rolling with Boulders
The haunting sound echoes deep inside of me, no surgeon's blade can find its dwelling place. Like my blood it rushes through me, sustaining my spirit and calling me to wake up and remember what is real. The swollen water picks up the The reverberating, discordant rhythm is unpredictable and perfect in its chaos. In my world of order and strait lines I am drawn to the memory of this creek, I ache for the connection I found there. Like Psalm 42:7: Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me. In those deep rumblings I first heard God's voice, that voice has never stopped calling me to "wake-up, wake-up, wake-up and remember;” like water gently splashing in the recesses of my mind.