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River
The river she is beautiful. She stretches many bridges. After a good rain she charges forward like a stampede of horses where she meets the small dam. She splashes like an explosion against it’s sharp rocks.

When its dry out she becomes calm, and thin, as if starving. As if weak. Her breath becomes a trickle at the dam. But It’s a good time for fishing if you are a heron.

She lays down smoothly then wiggles, an S shape, right in the middle, like a snake. She is framed in a halo of dirt and mud. In places she is shaved clean. Here water slashes up against flat man-made cement walls. In other places tree roots burst out of the earth reaching forward to kiss the water. Thick green clumps of algae collect in the corners hugging the shade.

I lived along the river for a long time, but eventually she moves past me. She and the bike path keep going. Like a faithful dog always to the side of his master. They come to mark the edge of campus. A straight line of respect.

From there it’s off into the city. She goes down town. Things are built up around her. In the city she has her own skyline which she wears like a crown. Here she sparkles her brightest in the sun as if smiling for a picture.

And then she rolls on like nothing ever happened. She and the bike path still clinging together keep going south through more metro parks, and another town. They keep going and flowing and it all passes by so quick. She’s wondering when it will happen. Will she get caught up and merge into some other bigger river? Or, perhaps, will they make it to the ocean?

Kate E Lore