It was near a river named Yuba
and a little town named Rough and Ready.
No. It was not dark.
It was the heart of the day.
There were no streets, dead ends, or otherwise.
There was simply a dirt road that led somewhere,
But 'dead-end to me', as per my onboard brain-computer.
The street lights were not broken.
It was rural, and there were no lights.
No. I was not afraid; just concerned and frustrated.
I was looking for 'shortcuts and time savers' but found neither.
In the middle of 'nowhere', I soon turned around and got back
on the main road. Short-cut hunt? Quickly abandoned.
Back roads and back fields? Beware and be weary.
Lesson learned? Not all shortcuts are created equally.
Categories:
yuba, adventure,
Form: Narrative
Yuba has wings
stone constellations
ripples that move
toward language
Starlings flying
rock to rock
keep their eyes
on the river
Against dawn
half-hidden
small clouds behind fir
A King Heron
resounds like bagpipes
then fills the air
with feathery sails
Sun
a morning bubble
lifted by a breezy hand
I lift a coffee
to my lips
a trout leaps
for a moth
-----------------------------------------
Ode to the North Yuba River
©dah / dahlusion 2015
all rights reserved
"Wings Flying Sails" was first published
in 'The Galway Review' Ireland
Categories:
yuba, art, feelings, nature,
Form: Free verse