Watching the Wake
Watching the Wake
The river serenity incarnate.
Water a liquid mirror holding sky, trees
Light falling, late summer eve perfection.
We smoothly glide along in the small boat
With old friends,
Saying nothing.
Looking behind us all the way
For hours, fascinated
I study how our wake unfolds behind us
From tossing turbulence
To a small and perfect wave behind that,
Curling at the ends just so,
Light falling into those curls
As though it were obsidian being shaved,
Short straight dapples across its ever forming edge
Then behind that
A nearly flat wider wave
Fans out to vanish into the river.
There's a lot of great art being made by this,
I think
So simple
So beautiful
Eternal, transient.
So it goes with us,
I feel
Our lives are our constant art,
Unfolding without plan.
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