Water Watching
/The small creek meandered through the fallow field
A jagged scar of shadows topped with mops of grass
Overhanging the few rocks and clods of dirt
Which bordered the ribbon of brown water.
Its surface was opaque and irregular
As it alternately spread and constricted
While traveling to a corrugated confluence
At the steel pipe which ran under the gravel road.
The streams quiet flow
Was contained and ordered for a brief, burbling moment
Before appearing once again
Re-establishing its commitment to carving the softer soils
Into organic artworks
Contrasting the smoother canvas of the gently rolling land
Framed by fences whose wires stretched lazily onto the distant fenceposts
Like the strings of a disused guitar wandering loosely between the frets.
Red winged blackbirds dotted the banks
Anchored in acute angles on spikes of dried thistle;
Keen-eyed sentinels patrolling the steep-cut berms
Opportunely culling the few insects from the windblown seeds
Which remained from the Fall’s final dissemination.
It was so quiet at that time of year, a sullen featureless sky hanging low
Nothing like the flurry of activity which accompanied summer’s warmth
When the air always buzzed and hummed with insects and birds
As it rustled through the fields grown high during the longer days
Carrying the fragrant scents of life in the heavy air.
Now, the creek was but an echo of its summer self
As it seemed to skulk away in dodging twists and turns
To be lost from sight in the vertical static of the trees beyond the fence
Its terminus only glimpsed by the imagination of the beholder.
By James Geehring
From: United States
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