In early mornings we coast the downhills
Resting, to peddle up the next
And keep our seats
The road ahead is long
And here is the surprise
It’s hot right now at eight a.m.
And we know what’s coming
The hay meadows on both sides
Are already tall and even
Ready to be cut
And here and there the ground
Is turned over for planting.
The creeks are still full, though
In mottled light beneath the trees
See the wrinkles in the golden sand
Along the bottom of the long, cool pool
Hear the low gurgle of the narrowed stream
Slithering over the rocky drop
In one turn I get a glimpse of a shaded run
And in the moment see
Ripples on the surface
Made by what I’ll never know
A jumping chub, a turtle rising
A bird skimming its belly?
Then a Great Blue Heron
Like Icarus or Superman
A creature of another Order
Something out of place
In this hollow we thought we knew
And bigger than life
Skims the blacktop road
Like an angry ghost.
Beautiful poem! Thanks for sharing.