fount of contemplation

On Wednesday night, precisely one year and one week ago, I sat beside the Cranberry River, next to a fire and listened to the water run over the rocks in the dark, and thought. I’ve sat above, beside, in that river countless times in the last 25 years thinking pretty much the same thoughts every time. But each time, a few new thoughts, made possible by increased experience and the passage of time, are added to the archives of contemplation. Many of those thoughts are recorded in the archives of this blog.


This afternoon Molly and I picked up Will from his last day of Summer school and drove to Lowe’s for materials needed to finish Jack’s room while he’s gone at camp. We’re going to build him a narrow shelf around the room for his collection of Jones Soda bottles. We found what we needed and on the way out, stopped to stare at some indoor fountains that catch my eye every time I’m in Lowe’s. When I stopped, Molly said, “Oh Dad, Mom LOVES those fountains!”
Let’s get one then!
I chose the copper and slate for reasons that some of you will know. Its name on the box is “Contemplation Fountain.” I’ve been staring at the fountain for over 3 hours, listening to the water run over the slate, through the “decorative stones” and trickle into the reservoir to be pumped back up through the copper tubes to begin again. I’ve been contemplating. Mostly fountains. Fountains of living water, of every blessing, and never ceasing streams of mercy into which one can be plunged and lose all his guilty stains.
This fountain is truly beautiful with its hollow copper and gray slate. Much like me – the construction of this fountain – hollow, dry and gray if not for the constant coursing of the water through the copper and over the stone, washing away the paths of resistance, coloring, over time, the drab, hardened clay.
There's a light perched at the top of the whole affair so that even in the dark, you can see the water flowing.

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