The river sings of its rocks, mirrors
emerald and jade where summer
shadows attempt to outrun
sundown. I intrude, I presume.

I stand near the middle. The second cut
of hay is on the banks, neatly ordered
in rows this time of year, golden,
measuring the march-step toward August.

I think about changes: the movement
of sand through narrow places, how
a ripple diminishes downstream,
how a sound sounds when it stops.


Art Credit: George Luks


Originally published (online) April 2000 at (now defunct) New Works Review

Poets And Storytellers United
Writers’ Pantry #52

15 thoughts on “Crossing

  1. enjoyed the poem, Ron.
    i think, humans are always intruders into nature. i loved the landscape that you painted, and it is the 3rd stanza that really grabs me. wow!

  2. Sort of like life, isn’t it…we stand in the middle wondering what lies ahead when sound stops and ripples cease. Evocative write, Ron.

  3. I loved this. I would love to be seeing those ripples and sand movement. Well, maybe when it’s warmer. You painted a beautiful image for me.

  4. Oh I loved every word Very beautifully written I feel if I am there. Here ‘the rivers sing of its jade’ as well as NZ has beautiful greenstone

  5. This took me back to my childhood when exploring woods and rivers, wading in the water or seeing who could climb highest in the tree was best. I still yearn for those days of freedom and feel sad for children today staring at mobile phones or iPads.

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