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Quiet Flows the Una
Aquatic Catharsis
H
ow I loved the rain
when it started to lash
the water. A raindrop
crashes into the surface,
which then sends it upwards
in a back-jet like a fountain.
Thousands
of
raindrops
bounce on the river, each
creating a little circle that
for a moment looks almost
like a water lily. If the rain is
heavy and fast, the back-jets
seem to join with the river or
to spout out of it and shoot
off into the sky above the
heaped-up clouds.
‘Pouring from above and
below,’ Grandmother Emina
used to say as she cleared
out the ash pan of the stove
with her tongs.
Rain can beat down with such
rhythm and force, if only for
a short time, such that the
opposite bank completely
disappears before your eyes.
And the river is covered by a
watery curtain from which it
emerges a few minutes after
the shower like a milky white
mist. The willow’s leaves
cannot be seen through the
river’s cumuli, but I know that
when the mist disperses the
greenery will begin to splash
in all directions.
In my Grandmother’s kitchen
the piece of elecampane
root on the stove smells of
warmth and innocence. The
Una takes on a pale-yellow
hue that rolls down the river
along the bank rich in yellow
clay. A calm reigns briefly
after the downpour, perhaps