True Companions

The shapes and colors of the creek
are graven in my senses.

The season slides from summer
into autumn and already
the leaves have started
to dry and crack -

I feel their pain.

The flood-waters have flattened
the sea-oats, tamped down
their feathery tips, silenced
their silvery whispers

Cat-tails and marsh grasses
strain against the tide
and everywhere morning glories
close in slow repose.

Evening brings my solitude
into harmony with the divine
and I weep
not because of sadness
but for the splendor of it all

The splendor of the great blue heron
hidden among the reeds
patient and still

The small fish flipping out
then side to side
quicksilver and pink

The evening geese gracing
me with their migratory calls
two or three at a time

The splendor of falling rain
as I run, plunging forward
into cool then warm water
floating while soft rain
plashes down on every part
of my worn out self.

Rejuvenated I emerge
only to plunge again and again
as Willa and Henry
my true companions join me.