How to Scratch the Surface of the Water

A poem to call us back together

A very calm Lake Superior, Munising, Michigan.

Dear Friends,

It is so very good to be back together. While I both needed and enjoyed my month of quiet rest, I did miss connecting with each of you. When July began, I worried a month was too long and would go by too slow. What I discovered is just how quickly weeks, days, and hours pass. And that it is nearly impossible to assign a timeline to deep reflection and soul searching. There is still much that I am wading through. And whatever comes, I know I want to continue turning words into water in and with this community.

Over the next few weeks, here at Wednesdays at the Well, I envision pouring out poems and thoughts that came alive during July. A few projects I’m honored to be part of were recently released, and I will share those details through the 10CAMELS newsletter email very soon. I’m not quite ready to log back into social media. So you still won’t find me there.

For now, a poem to call us back together. Read and/or listen below.

How to Scratch the Surface of the Water
©Rebecca Wilson, July 2026

you don’t, you can’t
your softest rock is too hard
your firmest flower too fragile 

take your shoes off
slowly glide in
feel the cool
warm and wet
the mossy stone’s gentle blanket
rough edges
cleansing and then tenderizing your skin
face wrinkled from laughter not age
ripples not mature enough yet to be called waves

let your whole soul sink
into the silky sand
a bed of imagination and wonder
notice what floats away
who remains present

not a repository of answers
but a reservoir of questions
little space for certainty
an endless cistern of curiosity
a reflecting pond 
this moment gazing back at you 
in a mirror Amphitrite has been polishing for centuries

---

Reflection Invitation

• What does it mean to scratch the surface of something?

• When is the last time you looked into the water?

  • What is gazing back at you?

  • What is floating away?

  • Who remains present?

Water-fully Yours, Rebecca