A promise to water
I made a promise to water at the Newlands Spring, before the drought came and the spring was diverted. Collecting water there over years, we became friends. The water came alive for me. Filled with life force, it rose from deep inside the mountain, taking years to make its way up through layers of sandstone into the light of day.
When I arrived tired and preoccupied, it washed my face clear with generosity, and quenched my thirst with freshness. What could I give in return? I asked often as I filled my jars, never quite expecting an answer, but one came. ‘Make me a water shrine, a love gift to water everywhere’.
This evening I sit in a small garden, the sprinkler on, listening to water falling on leaves and earth, breathing its coolness. The drought came, and the spring became a commodity and battleground, like other places around the world where water’s gift nature has been forgotten. This evening in the dusk I remember the promise I made. How, where and with whom shall I build a shrine for you?
Show me the way.