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Wherever it commences perhaps as random
raindrop tapping on a leaf and tumbling
into a tea-stained mosscup
it helplessly inquires after
lower levels whether seeping
darkly through silt
and marl to enlarge an imprisoned
aquifer shortcut or taking its chances to trickle
out through a slit of clay
to join its first
brook and amble off into the yielding
soft-shouldered marsh past fat roots of
lilies to linger among the
slick fronds
of algae paddled by ducks pierced by
pickerel to hurry itself and
whisk into the outlet that
will boil it
along a streambed grid of gravel toward another
stairstep of idleness the lucid
lake spritzed with
sparkling sun
there to seek its breach to tip and hurtle into
yawning torrent and the great meander
that will sweep it slow and
away out
and empty into the broad salt
sleep that will cradle it until
the sun siphons it again
to knit into more rain.
David H. Freedman on smartphone apps and the perfected self, Mark Bowden on being in the dumb kids' class, James Parker on Glenn Beck, Isaac Chotiner on P. G. Wodehouse, and more
Browse back issues of The Atlantic that have appeared on the Web. From September 1995 to the present, the archive is essentially complete, with the exception of a few articles, the online rights to which are held exclusively by the authors.
See All Back Issues: September 1995
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