“He is the mountain streams’ own darling,
the humming-bird of blooming waters,
loving rocky ripple-slopes and sheets of foam
as a bee loves flowers,
as a lark loves sunshine and meadows.”
–John Muir, “The Water Ouzel” from The Mountains of California
All alone
the dipper dives
into the icy mountain river.
Not just once.
Again and again and again,
for the fodder in its beak
for the ride on the riffling rapid
for the joy mountain rivers bring
to the ouzel’s soul as it sings with the current.
Bounce bounce, bounce bounce
on the rock the dipper
faces the late afternoon sun rays
that offer little warmth in late November.
All alone
I sit and watch the dipper,
who seems not to notice me
but likely does,
maybe likes that I am there
to watch the dance of pure joy,
to learn how to love cold, dangerous things.
Unbidden my heart joins the song:
As long
as there
is river
there can
be no
alone.
