three ways converge, diverge
the brown water churns
as it exits the hydroelectric plant,
as if it shakes itself awake,
the river dammed miles upstream,
the water piped miles through the mountain
to whirl the turbines so that our devices can dance,
the river’s old channel still and pastoral to the left,
an untamed Big Creek comes in on the right:
clear and cold, I see a trout brave to climb at a falls,
three water ways converse down a valley
and diverge back up it,
we choose to follow the wild stream,
a few miles up its valley
we enter into a softly green temperate rain forest,
all lush with leaf
and dancing with monarch butterflies
over frothing white rapids and emerald green stillnesses,
inside I churn like the water
and dance around like the butterflies,
there’s nothing temperate about my inner forest.
by Henry H. Walker
May 22 ‘17
No comments:
Post a Comment