Plum Creek, Midnight   1 comment

New Year’s Eve, The Queen & I celebrated the end of one year & the beginning of another with a hike. We let Rags off the leash, watched his ears flop down the bike path. Fireworks began as we crossed Plum Creek then headed back into the woods, Rags bouncing along a game trail ahead of us into the still drifts of snow & strange light: the trail, in shadows, opened to a clearing amid the trees into which the snowy sky reflected low incandescence. Trees—thick black lines illumined by fallen snow—gleamed against the deep stormy dark back-sky of the east, contested by the odd radiance seeping in from town to the west. Fireworks quickened behind us, the gloom before us etched eerily by white—a Beckett-scape—thrilling ominous piebald night.

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We turned toward home, Rags, terrorized by cracks & blastings unseen, scampering far ahead. Arm in arm we crossed Plum for the last time of the year, listening to 2012 carried away down the small stream, the “dark stream that seaward creeps.” We paused & listened awhile to the slipping away, on our right, & the coming to be, on our left, then walked on & kissed as bells rang beyond.

 

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Posted January 3, 2013 by the meaning of rivers in Uncategorized

One response to “Plum Creek, Midnight

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  1. You words put me there and it was beautiful, thank you.

    Ellen

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