I can't find my copy
of de Saint Exupery's 'Wind, Sand, and Stars'
(perhaps I gave it to our church) .

So - as a fellow-writer you'll appreciate -
I've done a little research.
Well... I googled it, okay.

It's his story of three Saharan Moors
who were flown to the French Alps
and led by their guide
up to a tremendous waterfall.

They stood transfixed.
Back home they'd march for days
to find a muddy pool of water
mixed with camel urine, to drink.

'That's all there is to see, '
their guide said,
'Come.'
'We must wait.'
'Wait for what? '
'The end.'


When - they were wondering -
would God grow weary of His madness?


I have a picture of these men -
squatting; sitting down
finally
to observe cross-legged
the perpetual miracle;

their guide faltering
into helplessness,
suffering the earth-bound quandary of
all guides
whose plans for their charges have gone wrong.

And I have a picture of you,
Rebecca
- one perhaps singular to me,
as I contemplate the shuttering of my twitter-feed:
sitting with your three cats

- lulled into sleepy cat-delight...

draped over the blanket
you have draped across your knees
to shield them from the thin, March wind...


close to the impasse-annihilating spray
of your waterfall
your mind excited, charged,
happy;

engrossed
with
the miracle, unfolding on your page.

John Garth Raubenheimer

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-rebecca-scarberry-author-of-messages-from-henry/