Page 69 - Contrast1988Spring

In the Summer

I woui~ watch the crayfish crawl

Across the pebbles on the creek's bottom

And the strange blue that would- cling

To-the side of my rock. '

The. trout would propel. themselves urstream

As If shot from tiny canons,

To some unknown salvation.

The warmth of the air and sun
Would entice me-into removing my T-shirt

And s[>lashirHJ in the cool water

Of the bahbling crystals.

I would lie back on my rock

And revel with the many small creatures

And Eorget the outside world.

In the Fall
The cool breezes would twist
The brightly colored leaves
In a- brilliant dance towards barrenness.
I would sit there and watch
Tiny motes of sunlight
Chase each other around without rest.
The squirrels would rush about
In panicked preparation
Of the long months to come.
No fish, no birds,
Just me
And the trickle
Of the lonely stream.

The years have passed;
The creek, rock, and I have grown older;
And only I changed.
I gaze out from the wind-swept bridge
And see where the snow swollen waters
Have covered my rock,
Freezing, sealing it in a crystalline embrace.

In the spring I know
It will return,
There to remain a stronghold against time.
And, as I try to break the ice with my eyes,
To see what I have seen before,
I wonder,
As the stone is timeless and strong,

Shall I be, too?

George Mayhew