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.

 

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

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