the earth abides as pure poetry

 The Bible says the "Earth abides," and history teaches us that people change. The landscape of the beautiful St. Croix River is a product of abiding persistent nature, and the restless, changeable human societies that have called the valley home. The St. Croix is what we have made it, and it will be what we dream it to become. 

---North Woods River, The St. Croix River in Upper Midwest History, by McMahon & Karamanski

 During a trip this fall to Minnesota, I spent a couple days camping in a camper van on the Wisconsin side of the St. Croix River. I sat by the river for hours. My mind quieted and I watched as nature unveiled her treasure chest of beauty:

an eagle flew back and forth, low over some trees to the left of me

a heron stepped in the slough, croaked and took flight

startled by the sudden sound of wings I turned to see, not more than twenty feet away, three wild turkeys flying across the slough to the island

the splash of  jumping fish and the sound of leaves dropping on the sand - yes, I could really hear them drop!

a very small critter swimming...it climbed out of the water onto the sandy bank of the island, and before it disappeared into the willows, I saw it had an orangish, bushy tail like a squirrel - can squirrels swim? Yes, they can, I found out, though I'm not sure whether what I saw was a squirrel or some other creature.

thoughts slowed down as my senses woke up. I listened as a language older than words spoke to me: images, touch, scents, sounds

watching the river flow past me, mind drifting,  nostalgic thoughts arising, remembering my youth from the vantage point of my 7th decade:  yes, I thought, "the earth abides"  and "the river flows"  

sameness and change, the transitory nature of existence

everything has become wonderfully and alarmingly poignant to me since I turned 70 

 gradually, imperceptibly, comes the dawn 

                  slowly, quietly, the light darkens to night

between these two great delineations

               our lives flash like a shooting star

 

 

 

 Return

 

here in this lost Wisconsin river valley

a vast shushing sound surrounds

oak, ash, maple, birch, 

wild cherry, basswood, white pine

 

the forest murmurs

erupts in sudden gusts

leaves trembling

 blinking dark and light

 

down in the river bottomlands

gentle breezes

yellow leaves take flight

 

heron steps

                         steps

     Aaawughk!      

- gone from my sight

 

three wild turkeys flap wide wings

across the slough

to island’s safe cover

 

splash of fish

scent of willows,

 wild mint and river mud

 

the river is a moving mirror

reflecting clouds in sky’s blue,

 arching tree limbs 

 green leafy canopies

upstream forest detritus

speckles the glassy surface

 

the river is a cold, dark current

excavating new channels

shifting familiar sandbars

stalling in backwaters

 

I walked the forest road

down to the slough

where the clearing opened before me - 

 anteroom of Eden

river of my youth

 

an eagle showed itself

in soaring flight over the trees

I dipped my hands into the river

and my tears began to flow

 

I have gone far away

I have failed and succeeded

I have gained and lost

I am growing old,

imperceptibly…

 

yet still, 

just the river

still, just me