Voices on the Wind Memorable Voices
Memo to water workers: by Mark Vogel You already know the gushing mountain origins, the never-ending flow, for you have been here to tap this bounty, to install the pipes, but you couldn’t know this afternoon we have no water, though the reservoir is now full, even overflowing. The fact that no liquid reaches the house maybe means the spring pump no longer works, which explains why earlier, when pressure dropped, then disappeared, I visited the spring and cleaned the screen of sand and leaves/gently moving one black and white salamander, then scared away water spiders skating the surface. When the reservoir quickly filled (in a moment of hope) we switched on the power, but no water came to the house, and right now and forever we would like to know how to make the gift return/ or whether in this technological age with blinking meters that drinking from a bubbling transparent spring beneath the tall poplar is outmoded. That it is folly to maintain ancient practice far back in the holler/believing fervently in the sanctity of rock/in collecting feverfew laurel witch hazel sourwood/ in absorbing sounds in the dark/ and knowing the varieties of owls big and small also know us. We can pretend we are natives adept at fixing concrete problems, but we need you to bring back the sustained cold flow. If necessary we would like a pump put in, no matter the cost, for we appreciate now the water we do not have.