photo: patricia wellingham-jones
by Patricia Wellingham-Jones
On
our usual bench
by
Lake Almanor
to
ravens croak among pines
and
grebes call in the middle of the lake.
With
our own words winding down
small
water sounds emerge:
tiny
slap of wavelets against a stony shore,
the
rise of wind pushing its blue path
and
the faint splash as ducks dive
beneath
the sparkling surface.
Loon-song
haunts a distant cove,
carries
us somewhere
we
never knew.
~
first published in Brevities
