As Steam Rises
photo credit USFWS
I need to take myself out of this city,
Drive all night to a place past suburban wastes,
To where steam rises off marsh canals,
And waves of waterfowl move silently through morning light,
That has turned water, sky, and cane the same soft silver,
And the tinny sound of mullet returning home,
After their brief walks in space, is the only sound.
There I will remembered the boy, barefoot in a boat
With a gay heart and a still straight nose.
In that place I remember that some things are not lost.
Wow. This set me off on another memory track from when I was a little girl on a HUGE farm, wandering the woods for hours. There was an old, falling-down boathouse by the river that sheltered a little wooden boat with one broken paddle that I used to row across to a small island, where I talked to the deer and the bobcats. And no one ever knew. On some mornings, the mist would rise from the surface close to the banks, where I once believed all the spiders would hide. Thank you, David, for taking me on such delightful mini-adventures! xoxo
Love this 👏