Upstream the surface begins flat, mirror shine.
Cool current flows under two kayaks
glowing red and green.
Noise of trains, trucks, cars gone. Hands
grip the paddle pole, arms stretch, drop, pull,
blade rises falls, left, right. Trickle of drops.
Sun falls warm on the shoulders. Blue blossoms
of figworts float by the hundreds like babies
asleep in baskets on this June afternoon.
Dark ovals dot the length of a log until
claws and legs poke out, push, and
drop into the stream.
Ahead the river whispers, speaks, then shouts
its rushing tones. Earth falls, river follows
making eddies, bubbles, splash, flash -- which way to go?
We are carried -- rising, falling, dashing, daring,
rounding rocks, scraping rocks, tipping, untamed,
sliding through foam, arriving to calm.
High above, wing sweep, flashes of white,
two Bald Eagles ride rivers of air, one wheels up,
looks down and spots the colors we ride.
Steering under Ironwoods, I climb out into water,
give my body to its movement. Head, feet, arms,
hair gathered up in the river’s peace.
© Marti Snell, 2016
|Rocks in the Rivanna|
Photo by Tony Russell