Hot Springs

The National Park in Arkansas called "Hot Springs"
 is like no other.  “National Old Time Resort”
would be a better name.

We walked along Hot Springs Creek, where steam often rises from warm flowing water, even when the air is near freezing.  Fresh water, heated by magma deep in the earth, rises to emerge from many springs, and the springs feed this unusually warm creek.  Many people come for the hot springs, but I found a Great Blue Heron more interesting.
  

He waded with his long, skinny legs and stretched his long neck to evaluate me.  Deciding I was little threat, he turned his attention to the water and stalked a fish as I stalked him.  Then in a flash, he had the small fish in his beak and gulped it down.  

Kathy Leonard

Sharon Stalking a Heron

I enjoyed the hunt, the stalking, and found that if a tree blocked the heron’s view of me, I could get very close, then lean slowly into view and get the shot.  I told Kathy that with a few hours practice I could have him eating out of my hand.  

Town folk gather at the watering hole for hot spring water

In the resorts along the “Park” main street, a person can soak privately in hot water that cures diseases and relaxes souls.  This is known from testimonials and much advertising.  Furthermore, the small crustaceans living in mud below the hot water make it healthful to drink.  

Kathy, Carlos and his little dog, Fritz

Kathy Leonard’s house

.

On a hilltop in the Park, stands a tall tower, which we climbed and looked down on the resort—down on many years of rich and ridiculous, memories of mafia and miracle cures, down on where three friends strolled and talked of important things, considering our good fortunes and soon parting, hoping the Park might pull us together again.    

Two Sharons and a Kathy

Three Friends, Two Angels

She leaves in quiet darkness

as two friends lie sleeping in singular beds

whose wander of place, and hushed dreams

dance between flutter of pale eyelids

Like Dorothy, she longs for home

but knows how to get there without necessary red slippers

to return to her house lovingly built in a New Mexico landscape

among wild turkeys without fences between neighbors

She is a wise woman

who builds bridges out of thoughtful words

invites permission to gather truth, like smooth pebbles

along a lake shore of piney green

She leaves behind two gifts of silvered-belled angels

each angel carries in unbroken hands what is needed

one angel holds a heart

whispers about a longing to be loved

to be held warm and safe in muscular arms

among woods in a rustic cabin

The other angel holds a flower

tells a story of a gypsy search for all that is beautiful

then poems written on a page

in the dinette of a pop up camper  

Three friends form a triangle

feminine, strong

tinker of two silvered angel bells

proclaim…now, now, now is the time

Kathy Leonard

With gratitude to the two Sharons, and the gift of two angel bells

January 29, 2020