The river flows here and goes
Under the wooden floorboards,
Under my happy, shoeless feet
Walking the bridge behind the roads.
Shh, listen: listen up close.
Leaves, many, plenty to touch.
Rustle: speak the winds from here,
The river seems a little trickle
Beside my grateful, rippling tear,
Flowing down my cheek in cheer.
Trees in bounty, near and far,
Gifts for us who cherish the presents.
Far on the riverside, there on the hill and
Here by the bridge in perfect presence,
Hiding, then shining a golden magnificence.
The evening sundown. Red on the river
And crisp dressing for velvet clovers.
The scent of nature, of everything, resounds
Much as the blues of the river flow over,
And I breathe it in: a breezy windhover.
Perhaps, back home, I would only imagine:
Crimson reds and riverbed blues.
Now, out here on the bridge by the river,
I take this home in ones and twos.
A walk in the woods: my reds and blues.
Sweet rustles, golden skies, riveting rivers — and me.🌿
