The Medina Flows
By g.l. bass (the ghostbear still lives)
5/85 ed. 4/05

The Medina flows,
Lifeblood of the Texas Hills,
Clear, emerald cold,
Singing white foam rapids,
Bottom skin of ageless limestone,
You wash free,
You wash clean,
Years of flood in your touch,
Years of drought in your reach,
What lessons of twists & turns
Do you teach
Each of us who courage
Your rapids and falls?
Your hard rock heart
Pours into deep cool pools,
Their porous bottom souls
Know sifted tales of those
Stories ancient, mystic and old.
It knows those yet to be told.
We dare our venturous hearts
Bold down boulder-strewn rapids,
Over furious falls,
Searching how love grows
Through wilderness times
Where the Medina flows,
Lifeblood of these Texas hills.

Two nomads out of grasp
With this land,
Our winter seeds planted
In far off northern lands.
We love in water waist deep.
We stumbled down slick rapids,
Wade back into secret
Lost falls,
And capture hand to hand,
Our own tales of this land.
Our whispered words,
Our passions,
Eye to eye,
We gather our future
In these pools
So old.
We tread into them deep,
Holding onto hopes,
The river rushes us
Clean of our past.
By these waters so pure,
So cold,
We find love’s
Determination to last,
Where the Median Flows,
Lifeblood of these Texas hills.

Below hundred foot cypress,
You kneel
Sift water through your fingers,
You whisper,
“How old this river?
How old this land?
When I close my eyes-
You know, I see-
Once a warrior
On a pinto horse
Stopped here.
Found where the water’s clear,
Washed his face,
Let his horse drink,
And continued his way home….”
I smile,
Kiss you gently,
“Yes dear,
A warrior and his horse
Never traveled alone.”

We wander this wide river,
Sand bar to sand bar,
In water deep, clear and cold.
Warriors of love,
We find here,
Can we even think of fear?
Of love beyond river’s voice?
Of faster rapids?
Steeper falls?
Deeper pools?
Our rebaptized souls,
Borrowed out of this rivers
Clear and cold,
Our tomorrow,
Our today,
Only the Medina knows.
Lifeblood of these Texas Hills,
On and on the Medina flows.

A book of stories new,
A song of stories old,
The Medina flows,
A twist and turn
Of tales echoed and retold.
In Water waist high,
We untie
Past times
Better left to die.
We find renewed strength,
Beneath great granite bluffs,
Where the river’s promise
Is a new faith in the days ahead,
Amidst love
In this old river’s bed.
The Medina flows,
Water for new souls,
The lifeblood of these
Texas hills.
The tale of these
Texas River Times.

Website Copyright Alannah K Ashlie 2005