Spring sunshine stretches herself warm, wide and welcoming over cold-shouldered fields and ditches, in the places where water gathers. She stirs molecules long-stilled to action, her rays a rousing address to an eager audience. Trickles join forces into streams, streams into runs, and runs into roaring gurgling drains where culverts strain to encompass the whole. And almost overnight, the accumulation of a winter is gone, deposited into the basest common denominator - the geological low-point of a lake basin.
Decaying ice marks the high points of a trickle gone wild. Places where waters, swollen with purpose and action, rose to the occasion - and fell ingloriously to decomposition when the stuff of dreams drained dry.
Only two things can keep the action going.
One is to ensure a constant supply of influx. Another is to act like a beaver and dam it up, plugging the places where the moisture leaks away in its search for its ancestral home.
A messy business, that. It involves work - clearing trees. Mucking about in the mud, packing debris firm against makeshift dams, beaverish feverish maelstrom of activity to redirect the flow and keep some back for personal use.
Aren't there times when you find yourself leaking?
You can't keep up with the demand. Your job requires your full-time energy. Your children need your presence - and not just your leftovers. Your marriage only thrives with intentional input. Friendships fade without maintenance. I haven't even listed the clubs, charities, volunteer activities, coaching commitments that many of us have added to the roster.
There are times when I feel that I need to plug the hole. Stop the outflow, the perpetual drain of resources. Because if I don't dam something up, I'm leaking...
Just in case you think this phenomenon can't possibly be addressed by an ancient text like the Bible, think again.