Sunday, May 17, 2015

Poem #149

Written at Sandy River Lodge, May 2015

The geese fly up and down the river
They honk as they pass the deck
where I sit reading
and Eileen sketches
the soft May green of the trees
on the other bank
There are swifts and swallows
robins and crows in the woods
but we don't hear them
for we sit at a bend
between white water and white water
and though the winter has been dry
enough melt is moving to the sea
to create a steady rush of sound
I move between the quiet
of the house
where my characters wait
and the deck where the geese pass
and the last of winter rushes down hill

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