Seeking the source;
that old well
that kept my family alive
for generations.
They wandered out of the East,
seeking peace and shelter.
War and persecution
had ravaged their home,
so they pushed West,
seeking freedom,
seeking life.
This old well
existed
when they found this place,
nestled in a little valley
and miles from the nearest river.
The indigenous peoples
that settled here before
claim it has always been here.
A mystery,
like much of this place.
My family settled nearby,
the well watered their livestock
in winter and summer.
They thrived,
and grew,
for every time
they dropped a bucked down,
it came up full.
I heard the stories
and I never believed,
how the water could heal,
or change a person.
The drink that was made with it
was regarded as unique
in its thirst quenching properties.
The farm flourished
through the wars,
but the modern world
drew the young away.
The property
was left fallow,
the land unworked,
the farm abandoned.
They boarded up the well
back in the Nineties.
The fear of a child falling in
was a big deal back then.
The land was rented,
time and time again,
but no one stayed
and the place went wild.
I am returning to the well.
These days
we all could use
a miracle.
A return to the land,
simpler times,
simple men,
and something pure.
There was a story
that this well had once
tapped the very essence
of life on Earth,
and that the life
that flowed
all along the surface of the Earth
originated there.
It’s just a story,
but as I drive west,
GPS set
to the coordinates
of the old, family farm,
I can’t help thinking
about who we are now,
and who we were then.
Water is life.
It is the past,
the present,
and the future.
From it,
all life rises.
So,
I am going back
to the well,
and forward
in time.
HG – 2022
