Piling into the over warm car because it was going to the river.
Not a babbling brook or a lazy meandering stream
But a rushing frothing, racing waterway.
Glimpsed over the edge of the bridge, not suited for swimming,
More riddled with eddies, boulders and rocks.
hazards to unsuspecting flotsam that littered the streaming wavelets
that lap the distant shore.
Why the fascination for the Kicking Horse?
The waters were seldom so green blue.
About the Creator
Anita Dotts
During her free time, Anita enjoys writing stories for her grandchildren as well as kayaking, swimming, and golfing. She lives in Harrison Hot Springs, British Columbia, with her spouse. She enjoys writing poetry.
Keep reading
More stories from Anita Dotts and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.