Monday, January 09, 2012

The Lobster and the Riverbed.

She was red like a rusted firetruck or an old farmhouse hidden in the shade by a large sycamore tree. The lobster climbed up the dried riverbank through the hot sun. She rested in the shade for a bit. The riverbed was as dry burnt toast, but there was a faint rumble up ahead. The lobster traversed up the riverbed a little more, walking around the large smooth stones and stumbling through the small smooth pebbles.

Suddenly, she came upon a wall. The wall blocked off the entire riverbed. It was impossible to climb over. Up in the distance, she believed there was water. She traveled too far to turn back. With her claws, she started pinching the wall. Over and over again, she pinched and pinched.

After what seemed like hours, the wall grew damp. She kept pinching. A leak sprung out and squirted water down her shell. She kept pinching. As the stream of water grew, she dug her feet into the riverbed to keep from being washed away. When the current got to be almost unbearable, she sidestepped out of the flow and started pinching another part of the wall. Soon, she found the wall to be damp there too. She kept pinching. Water started squirting out of that wall too, and when she could stand it no longer, she moved to another part of the wall. She kept pinching.

When her work was done, she rested in the gentle flow of the restored river. She stretched out on a rock and tried to ignore the beavers who were yelling at her from on shore.

No comments: