Waggle Springs is a series of underground springs that feed the Assinaboine River five miles south-west of Shilo, Manitoba. I wrote this on Monday, August 5, 2002; the same weekend as a high school reunion.
Waggle Springs
(And She Laughs)
From the belly of the earth
She breaks forth with torrents of laughter
Gleefully dancing and shining in the sunlight
Every bend, stone and cliff a new chortle
Giggling all the way to the mighty current
Seemingly without beginning and no end in sight
And she laughs
When bicycles brought her guests for that day
When pirates roamed her mighty sea
And battles were waged with the nature-shaped stick
Shouts of "Pluka-Pluka-Pow" ricocheted off her surface
Till victory and peace finally came
When Boy Scouts set up camp and learned her ways, those of the wilderness
When Huck-Finnish rafts were floated
And long walks back because of the one way direction of her destiny
When being a kid was the agenda for that day
And memories placed in her treasure chest
And she laughs
When cars brought her guests for that day
When she'd bring coldness that would take your breath way to those who dared to plunge
When the banks were crossed by mighty conquerors
When Catfish were caught with those ugly feared whiskers
That legend told of a terrible doom lay ahead for those who were struck by them
(Whether fact or fiction, I still don't know)
When poison oak was the pathway to the ale, which she kept cold
And the fire was high as the stories were told and the party laughs loud
When lovers met in backseats and blankets
When coming of age was the agenda for that day
And memories were placed in her treasure chest
And she laughs
When solitary footsteps bring the guest for this day
There is now a shack where battles were fought, pirates laired and party fires burned
Like brown shoes underneath an elegant black tuxedo
Like litter on sacred ground
I am annoyed
But she laughs
When chosen isolation replaces the partying population
When a log on her steep beach replaces the raft in her prairie rapids
When a store-bought pipe replaces the nature-shaped stick-gun
When a desire to write replaces the need to talk
When subtlety replaces the obvious
When contemplation replaces confusion
She laughs even louder now than ever before
Her voice has not changed though
Now like the rocks that form her path, the rough edges are a little smoother
Because what I thought I knew is now replaced with glorious mystery
The tyranny of the urgent has been replaced with the tranquility of enjoyment
Life with forgotten beginning and no end insight is truly beginning to be lived
And treasured memories are found and gazed upon in all their splendor
When remembering is the agenda for this day
And memories are placed in her treasure chest
And she laughs
~ by Don Boddy (PEHS 1984) ~