Where the Ducks Brought their Ducklings and the Ripples Moved Slow

I wish I could show you

The slanting afternoon

sunlight on the

Yellow-green-bright

Leaves,

And the floating specks of

Cotton drifting

From the tree.

I wish I could show you

The water

That dips

Over the stones

In the river,

And how soft and smooth

And glassy

It seems

As it flows over

The silk

Of the rock.

I wish I could describe

The fullness of the

Riverbank,

The bounty of life:

Of green growth upon grass upon

Tree and vine and flower,

Upon bush and branch and fern,

The stacks and towers

Of every shade of green.

I wish I could show you

The sound of the river

And the birds:

The quietness of the gurgling water,

The peace of the bird’s chatter.

I took hundreds of pictures,

But they can’t show you

The sweetness of the

Failing light,

Or the freshness of the

Pooled water

Or the large black flash of the duck’s feet

As it swooped over us to land on the

Dark water.

Or the serenity

Of the beaver pond

Where the ducks brought their

Ducklings

And the ripples

Moved slow.