| In the sculptor's words... Sitting near the trickling waterfall
I looked up
to find the bird whose song
had captured my attention, and there,
resting on the fallen
manzanita, stood
the diminutive
prestidigitator,
smoking.
The trickle consumed my toes,
ankles, knees and headed north as
all thoughts turned to water.
we swam through the pond to
converse with the blue gill and dine on
waterweeds.
Sitting by the trickling
waterfall
I could have sworn he was
there.
Have I always had duck feet?
|
