Saturday, April 03, 2010

Sudbury, Assabet, Concord.

Norman Maclean wrote,
"Eventually, all things merge into one,
and a river runs through it.”
Long ago and far away from north Texas
I was raised by three New England rivers.

In summer, tourists floated in
rented canoes from the South Bridge
Boat House; we pelted them with
rotten apples from a tall fern fortress.

Fall waters brought first cold;
a whisper of winter
winding its way past
Egg Rock and the meadows.

Skate blades crossed winter’s icy back;
checkerboard hockey games laid out for each age
Geese teeming at the hard bends,
open water a precious commodity.

Spring, rebirth, floods cover field and
forest, water brown and fast brings
new soil with
a promise of life to come.

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