Such Was the River

Growing up in a sleepy coastal town

there wasn’t much to do

for boys with boundless energy,

except to swim or to get into trouble.

I wasn’t much of a trouble-maker;

so I took to the water.

Often when I had my fill

of swimming and splashing,

I enjoyed sitting on a dock

and gazing into the tea-colored waters

of the Imperial River that flowed

silently to the Gulf.
                

Occasionally, I would catch a glimpse

of a gar, a bream, or some soft-shell turtle

breaking the shadowy surface with its head.

Minnows would hug the bank,

darting in and around the vegetation,

avoiding the current.

Fallen leaves would ride the

liquid conveyor as if leaving town

until it drowned somewhere along the river

or found its grave in the mangroves.

It’s doubtful they ever reached

the currents of the Gulf to freedom,

but you never know.

My thoughts always seemed to drift

along with the river

as it made its way westward

through the pass

to the gulf of my imagination.

Unlike the leaves,

I was the better for the ride,

floating down life’s river

like a water strider

walking on water

without a care in the world,

enjoying the view.

Such was the river of my youth.