Submitted By: jettkeyser@gmail.com – Click to email about this post
Remembering our beautiful community…
Magic
In a stand of pines there was a cabin
with a sloping back porch. If we were quiet,
we could listen to the wind in the dry
Ponderosa and the sounds of a green river
descending. We were days on the road,
traveling together to grandmother’s house,
a family journey. Decades later, searching
for that river memory along old US 395,
I stopped. Walking down to the river,
I began to breathe, opening a way back.
Swirling roots still bind those rocky banks,
where ankle deep in luminous water
we had learned to hold the flat, far-tumbled
stones, glistening on a quiet granite run.
Rising with the incantation of the skipping
stones, magic arrived long ago in the emerald
light.