The TrappistsAuthor(s): Amy LeachSource: The Iowa Review, Vol. 36, No. 1 (Spring, 2006), p. 55Published by: University of IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20152122 .

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The Trappists

"I am a Trappist like the trees," the lily thought to herself as she let

the breeze sway her but said no words to it. "I am a Trappist like the

lily," the creek thought to himself as he swelled with pearly orange fishes but declined to interview them. "We are Trappists like the

creek," thought the raindrops, as they filled the pond with fresh

cloud water, or mixed with the juice of a fallen cherry, or came to

rest deep in the dirt, and everywhere neglected to explain or intro

duce themselves. "I am a Trappist like the rain," thought the tree,

as she felt the taciturn rain dripping off her warm needles onto the

ground and the wet birds returning, and she made no speeches at

all. "I am a Trappist like the trees," the Trappist thought to himself

as he walked into the forest, as he let the lily, the creek, and the

fishes and the rain sway him, and said not a word.

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