this golden slant of light in the mornings,
sunrise spilling the sky’s yoke across the land
splashing off this dirty river to shine
back skyward . . . somehow it imbues its scene
with a sort of bright dream nostalgia, and
the mist burning up off the river surface,
the occasional flop of fish, ripples out
with rifle-shot reverberations across
morning . . . and overhead a mature bald
eagle in his silent glory stalks this
river, awaiting his opportunity
for a perch or carp breakfast riverside.
disengaged observer, I fade into
words and paint these into golden memory.
David M Pitchford
17 Nov 2011