Where Water Meets Stone

I stepped where sunlight scarce would tread,
Where stone and water softly wed —
A hollow carved by time’s own hand,
A hush more present than the land.

No silence, this — a breathing still,
Where shadows clung with ghostly will.
The walls were damp with ancient tears,
And the air was thick with mineral years.

Above, the water whispered low:
A silken fall, a silver show.
Not thunder, but a drifting thread
That shimmered where the daylight bled.

Each drop, a quiet offering made
To pools where light and stone cascade.
Suspended mid-descent, they gleamed —
Not splashed, but hovered, soft and dreamed.

I stood, dissolved in shadowed grace,
The outer world a distant place.
Thoughts faded in that gentle space,
Where time and silence interlace.

Then light — one shaft — a golden spear —
Cut through the mist that lingered near.
A rainbow, fragile, curved its way
Through softened hues of light and spray.

Not bold, not brash — a breath, a sign
That vanishes if crossed the line.
A quiet arc of spectral lace,
A secret held by time and place.

No grandeur here, no roaring call,
But peace within a water’s fall.
The kind of beauty that recedes,
Unless you come with quiet needs.

No signs, no crowds, no grand parade —
Just sound, and stone, and softened shade.
And as the sun began to slide,
The rainbow bowed, its grace denied.

I lingered there, and let it be.
That magic, brief, was a gift to me.
For in the hush where light is sown,
I found the soul where water meets stone.