Monday, October 24, 2005

the music of water

'No one else seems to have seen the sparkle on the brook, or heard the music at the hatch, or to have felt back through the centuries... Perhaps after all I was mistaken, and there never was any such place or any such meadows, and I was never there.'

Richard Jefferies
'My Old Village', Field and Hedgerow

1 comment:

Jefferies Land Conservation Trust said...

'The spring rises in a hollow under the rock imperceptibly, and without bubble or sound. The fine sand of the shallow basin is undisturbed - no tiny water volcano pushes up a dome of particles. Nor is there any crevice in the stone, but the basin is always full and always running over. As it slips from the brim a gleam of sunshine falls through the boughs and meets it. To this cell I used to come once now and then on a summer's day, tempted, perhaps, like the finches, by the sweet cool water, but drawn also by a feeling that could not be analysed. Stooping, I lifted the water in the hollow of my hand - carefully, lest the sand might be disturbed - and the sunlight gleamed on it as it slipped through my fingers. Alone in the green-roofed cave, alone with the sunlight and the pure water, there was a sense of something more than these. The water was more to me than water, and the sun than sun. The gleaming rays on the water in my palm held me for a moment, the touch of the water gave me something from itself. A moment, and the gleam was gone, the water flowing away, but I had had them. Beside the physical water and physical light I had received from them their beauty; they had communicated to me this silent mystery. The pure and beautiful water, the pure, clear, and beautiful light, each had given me something of their truth.'

'Meadow Thoughts', The Life of the Fields