Girl In A Red Canoe, Epilogue

The Rain
~
The sound of one tent flap,
Summer rains having washed,
Trickle down the trail leaving,
Wet behind and wind having its way,

There are survey clouds that come before a storm,
They look down and behind,
Studying the tops of things to dampen,

After is Mother Rain, her bladder poised,
One quick flashing blast or dribble,
Creating illusions unaware of,
That this water from sky was just here,
But nowhere else, not part of a path.

Last the Sprites of left damage or new growth,
Puddles or currents cutting ruts down hills,
Filling foot prints, erasing or deforming them,
Left over droplets clinging to sticks and foliage,
Waiting to fall or evaporate,

The Boat and the Girl
~
Canoe wielder, graceful feather paddling,
A one week ago stranger, then hand holder,
Now companions nearing the shore with toes
And finger tips dragging in the river,

We invent a ceremony, because we both cry,
Bending side by side, each of us give tears,
To the stream of things. She dips a single finger,
Places it on my lips then turns and walks,
To the path and disappears, as we agreed.

Flight
~
I will return next August,
A fresh year, same river, new water,
A Heron will fly by in time,
In her own migration.
Coming and going with the flow
Of things