Creek, Reprised   Leave a comment

It was not easy to do but it was done — falling off a kayak into the creek, surrounded by fragrant water lilies, probably not unseen by kingfisher, egret, heron. While I float, easy, slack current, Jack climbs back aboard, facing now the stern of his boat, twists & scrambles & now facing front, sits, briefly, thinking, then, on wobbly legs, the wet world tilting, stands again, for a moment, another, rocks, plants his paddle in the water like a staff, to steady, to keep things, briefly, right, & go. I watch my son from my own boat, revolving & drifting, both of us at play with time.

Man, boy at Old Woman Creek, late August — season of so long, moving on, of what is next. Still green, still swallows swooping, still some water lilies blooming, but life along the creek turned toward autumn.



Posted August 19, 2011 by the meaning of rivers in Uncategorized

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