Water Of Love – Flash Fiction for 2/17/12


Water Of Love

It was our meeting place, the spring that came out of the base of the mountain and formed a rock-bound crystal stream. Where we laughed and skipped flat stones when we were young. Where we lingered on limestone monoliths, aching with longing when we were falling. Where we skinny dipped, blood racing, in the chilly deeps when we were deeper in love. Where we lay spooned in the soft grasses, dappled sunlight dancing over us. Where we said our good-byes and she wept when I went away. If you listen, you can still hear her voice in the murmuring waters.


24 responses to “Water Of Love – Flash Fiction for 2/17/12

  1. One of my barometers for judging good writing (writing that moves me) is chills coursing up my arms and back. (Check mark in that box, thanks, courtesy of the last sentence.)

    Very beautiful and haunting piece.



  2. I agree with Siobhan Muir, the last lines are the best. On a different note, I found the repetition of the word ‘where’ to be a little redundant. I think the piece’s brevity made that repetition stick out more. But I do love the memories and emotion attached to the piece.

  3. Beautiful! Since you commented on my blog that you were part Cherokee, then I read this lovely story–I’d like to know if you know anything about the Cayuga church that was built for a warrior’s love? I understand it still stands today and, if I’m not mistaken, still holds services. I’m curious to learn more about it but, so far, have not found much information. I think it’s located somewhere in the Grove, OK, area.

    • Thanks for the nice words on my story. I was not familiar with the Cayuga Mission Church, but I did a little search and came up with this from a webiste, lasr.net. Here’s the short article from there: The Cayuga Mission Church is the only church in Oklahoma, and perhaps in the U.S., which was built by a Native American with his own funds for the religious use of all people. In 1886, Mathias Splitlog began constructing a church of hewn limestone from the area for his wife, Eliza Splitlog. The inside was embellished with beautifully hand-carved imported wood. The arch forming the doorway was formed of 15 stones, each carved with an Indian symbol.

      When Eliza Splitlog passed away in 1894, the church was still unfinished but her funeral was held in the partially completed church. Work on the church continued and it was dedicated in 1896. The bronze bell, cast in Belgium, first tolled in memory of Eliza Splitlog during the dedication. In 1897, Mathias Splitlog passed away and his mass was held in the church he dreamed of, financed and built.

      Today, the old mission bell still rings. It calls the faithful to worship during the spring, summer, fall and winter, loud and clear. Its clarion peals over the streams and valleys of what was once the Seneca Nation.

  4. Very emotional story, I thought that the narraotr going away might be a hint at death rather than just a physical parting, but perahsp that’s just me. Either eay, a beautiful piece.

  5. Funny how consenting good-byes are always hardest. That’s the kind of parting I sensed in this story and it was a very good telling by the way.

  6. Very nice, almost lyrical. I loved the last line. this is how I read it–all these years later and that woman is still babbling. – HA!

  7. I stumbled over the “you” in the last sentence. You do it so well, creating that duo world–wondered if the last (powerful) sentence should have been written from that same place.

    • Thanks Robin, I think you’re right, and you’re the only one who picked up on this. Here’s my rewrite: If I listen, I can still hear her voice in the murmuring waters. That is better. Very insightful of you.

  8. The word limit really works for this one, it just brings home the fleeting nature of life (says the man who had a panic attack when he turned 30). As Basil Fawlty once observed, “Zip!” “What was that?” “That was your life, mate.”

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