the river of these last days


    that has carried us between
    family and friends, sharing
    stories and meals, planning
    and remembering, feeling
    the rise of old feelings that pull
    like an undertow, and relishing
    new experiences that carry us
    like rapids so that we don’t have
    time to take in all we are feeling
    has left me exhausted and exuberant.
    I’m back in old places, but the
    water is new; things are not the same,
    except, it seems, for the things I
    wish would be different. The rocks
    that would break our boats never move.
    Tonight, as we stood on the porch and
    the rain percussed on the tin roof, and
    we stared out across the dry river bed
    in the valley below, I could not help
    but believe that all that was being
    washed down the hillside would not be
    lost, but would feed the strong current
    that will carry us on into the days to come.



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