Hay Meadow Creek

The Hay Meadow Creek divides my Parent's land Its waters run clear and true It then flows into the Prairie Along untended Lincoln County lands. The Prairie is a little wider A little deeper too Its banks are a little more traveled By seasoned anglers through and through. I like to hang my head over the Hay Meadow Bridge I like to watch the clouds sail overhead Reflected in the creek's moving pools, over branches left long dead. The bridge has been there my entire life Just down the hill and around the corner A place for quiet solitude A place to reflect on my sheltered life's wonder. I like to watch the dragonflies Dance along its tangled banks On magical summer fairy wings while June Bugs and Bullfrogs like to sing. They dance and hover along the banks The banks that are their borders The shores of their horizons Now that I am in my later years I miss these absentminded visions. I can see the brown trout swimming from my elevated place in Heaven I can see some rainbows also From my seated place of speculation. I can see their shaded outlines in the deeper pools Colored copper by the iron in the creek bottom's residues Along with all of the granite here Its a gold mine of rocks and pebbles. I can see their shadowy figures dance and sway There are no anglers casting today And so their lives will be spared until another day When hooked and caught, they will be carried away. To where they will be someone's breakfast or lunch or dinner But not today, they are safe as I gaze upon them today There are no anglers in sight The Farmers Almanac predicted not Not until theMonth's next Fortnight. The Creek bends slightly before it arrives here at the Bridge There is a rapids flowing, a rapids of water meeting ridge I can hear its music played aloud Between the rocks and boulders a tune. A song whose voice changes very little during the day Only when the Spring and Summer rains come along Or when the Winter's temperature turns all movement into solid ice Ans then silence becomes the norm. But for the today I can watch the Browns and Rainbows dance and sway There are no anglers wading about To cast their lines across the shadows here. Their lives are safe, My memories are dear I will hold them close in my older years Of the days of watching the Haymeadow Creek Lying on the Bridge that I held so dear. (January 5, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin) (c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved,