Evening hurries down the river

​

Interval: The period of time between two events, actions, or between two parts of an action.

A period of cessation, a pause, a break;

In the space of time intervening between two points of time, any intervening time;

An open space lying between two things or two parts of the same thing;

A gap,

An opening…

I.

On the way out, it was enough to wish for,

this need for things not yet seen.

So it’s easy paddling against the current,

up the winding channel through spent marsh grasses,

bent low in winter’s quiet light.

I remember the great blue heron last spring.

How he rose from the marsh, all awkward power.

In the curve of his neck a permanent question.

Those great wings beating slow.

And at the next bend he rose again.

Those great wings beating slow.

With each measured turn I traced,

he rose and set, and rose and set.

Each stroke of mine an answer.

And for a time we danced together.

There was no need to speak.

​

II.

But I’ve been too long on the river now.

The pine and oaks are dark and still.
They’ve wrapped the earth around their roots.
There is no grace of wing.

They whisper, “Quick – go now, quick.
You are not welcome here.”

Evening hurries down the river.
And the ice on the far bank shatters in my wake.
Shatters the dark pressing down on the water.

One shining jewel streaks high overhead.
A jet heading west.

A gap,

An opening.
 

Joan Wilking

Go West!

Photo Montage

~ Sarah Evertson