Along the Marsh


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Along the marsh
ferns run rampant
in the generous, wet air and
moss hangs in youthful oblivion,
impervious to the cold gathering round.
Tall grasses heed
the signs of winter settling in though;
their lithe stalks bend over
in yoga poses,
or maybe they’re bowing down to us
or something greater?

We wind past beaver dams and red cedar,
before the trail veers from the lowland.
A steady slope burdened
with roots and stumps,
we ignore the fog and settling twilight
and climb on;
even the damp and rot renews.

Overhead, clouds gather
and an angle of geese
drag in the rain.
The marsh sighs,
a solitary heron hunkers down,
and weary rocks huddle for the night.

This is how I find you, God,
know how I am on my way…
The blue topaz of daytime
turns a misty grey
and the twilight along the marsh
issues a quiet caution.
Still I blunder forward;
my sights are set on
something beckoning
beyond the soggy reeds…

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This entry was posted in Agony and Ecstacy, Life, Nature, Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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