water – sethlewis.ie

A Puddle of Pure Joy

It was a hot day in the High Tetras of Slovakia, last summer. We were on holiday in a town with a water park, so we decided to cool off there. As we walked in, we were impressed with the extent of the place—the large indoor pools came first, then multiple outdoor pools, a lazy river, creative water features, and slides of all sizes twisting off in all directions. Someone had obviously put a lot of thought and effort into collecting and channelling water in the most delightful ways possible. It worked. We had a great day. And out of all the slides and waterfalls and all the fun we had and saw others having, there was one moment that stands out as the purest, most transparent joy I saw that day.

I Don’t Know Where The Streams Are

One warm Monday evening, I found myself with half an hour to fill as I waited for one of my children to have a music lesson. Across the street was a new greenway, quietly inviting me to spend the time strolling instead of scrolling. The path passed along roads I’d travelled many times in the car, so I didn’t expect to see anything new, just to stretch my legs. I was wrong.

Things look different when you’re walking. You have time to notice the individual wildflowers, and the meadow behind the wall with the horses in it that you just couldn’t see from the driver’s seat of the car. The discovery that surprised me most, though, was the stream running right beside the road. Through the crowded trees and bushes it babbles away constantly as it splashes its way over rocks and under roots and how did I travel this road so many times and never even know this was here?

The Leak (a poem)

Today I have a poem for you that is inspired by true events in our home. We recently discovered that a slow leak behind the shower had done enormous damage inside our bathroom walls without us realising it. As I considered what had happened I noticed a connection between our home and our hearts. That’s what this poem is about.

The Leak

Silently
the water creeps
behind the tidy
tiles, seeps
into the wood
and insulation
slow and patient
devastation
working hidden
in the dark
drip

drip