the days had become river soaked
juiced through and through
the rinse of
nostrils, ears, eyeballs even,
the fine silt
from the brown being up, dries the skin,
but grins are wide.
a canoe up the gorge with the kiddo and dog and shreduard, into
the late day sun
and the swallows are back, the dippers too,
it’s the spring that brings
the bugs back to life.
above the z-channel - next day
the eagle has lost his mottled colors
and below the falls, the herons are thick, the ospreys too.
the dark side beckons, and we’ve been
getting flirty.
shred is almost upside down in the boiling eddy, and
j-man is fully squirted vertically wrong side up
in the curler off the room
in between the goal posts of two boats, I’m hauling, safe.
the brown is up
the tide is down
and its another juicy line up over and around the Fear.
into the mottled fish stink of that chaotic
wave train,
watch out!
it's when you're tired that the river hand will getcha.
two laps? why not?
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