You dammed all our rivers, polluted half our streams. Drained our ponds and trashed our lakes, syphoned our springs. Where were we supposed to go? Your big pretty house sits on what used to be my pond. The excavators filled me, giving me no escape to the stream you could walk to in minutes, who now spends half her time in culverts underground. As immortal as nature, I was yet on the verge of death, drowning in dirt and concrete, when you put in the first “water feature”, which gave me, barely, the strength to keep on until you dug your pool and this whatever-you-call-it.
I hate you and your kind for what you’ve done to me and mine, but I will admit, the waters you deign to keep, you keep well. Your artificial cemented, straight bordered swimming pond is sterile, but crystalline and beautiful in a way I have grown to appreciate, and this hot-pool is glorious. I am grateful for it.
Even this joy is bittersweet, however, as I’m cut off from my sisters, from everything I once knew. I’m… lonely. I should hate you more. But I’ve seen you, felt you swim in my waters. I know your strength, your kindness. You didn’t know – you were never taught. Me and mine are barely even stories from your childhood. You would not have trapped me here, not on purpose, not if you knew. I’ve heard and felt your heart as you entered and glided through me. So I appear to you.
I may be trapped, but I, we, don’t have to be alone. You don’t know yet, but I can teach. Come visit me. Come into my heat, my wet. Let me hold you, carry you, embrace you. I have so many things to show you.