As the Prairiewoods artist-in-residence, I have the privilege of spending time at Prairiewoods in a variety of seasons, meandering through the prairie, visiting Grandmother Oak, slowly turning in circles as I walk the labyrinth. A little over a year ago, I waded into Dry Creek—not dry at all!—and perched on a rock with the water flowing around me. On that day, I managed to catch two poems floating by:
Give Me Time
give me time to sit
on a stone in a rivertime to be still while water
rushes and roils around megive me time to become
stone—silvered, solid, silent—worn smooth by sitting still
in the midst of motiongive me time to sit
on a stone in a river
Sitting in Dry Creek in Mid-June
I went down to the river to pray
and escape my buggy thoughts.On a flat rock surrounded by
gabbling water, no words came.Perhaps I was praying as moving water
prays, sliding closer to God.
Since the start of the pandemic, even though I have my at-home daily retreat, I’ve been missing the quiet beauty of Prairiewoods, and now, as I’m planning a trip to re-enter that precious space—no overnight stays yet—I’ll be facing a changed landscape, mourning the passing of tree friends in the recent storm. (I was overjoyed to hear Grandmother Oak has survived!) Yet the creek will still be flowing, teaching us how to feel the flow of the Spirit in the midst of change, how to pray even when there are no words to say what is in our hearts.
—Carol Tyx, Prairiewoods artist in residence and author of several books of poetry, including the recently released Remaking Achilles, Slicing into Angola’s History
(photo of Dry Creek by Kate Tyler)