Home on the Allegheny

photo by Wolfgang Stearns
photo by Wolfgang Stearns

I see this river every day. Herons fly past our windows and geese call out through the early morning mist. Sometimes I see fish breaking the surface of the water and riding a perfect arc on their splashy return. Barges sail by, heavy and intimidating throughout the night and day. Ducks with iridescent colors swim the quick current downriver towards the city.
I am grateful for this beauty today.

Poem from years ago

photo by Sylvia
photo by Sylvia

A Memory

Slicing into an orange, the juice misting
the hairs on my arm, twinkling under
the kitchen light, lighting my senses;
I remember watching my mother
peel oranges.

Her movements—
a Zen-like procedure, ripe with anticipation,
with desire, drift like a moist halo
around my head.

In slow motion, my thoughts linger over the image; her hands, the glint on the silver knife, the woodgrain on the handle, the perfect orb bursting with liquid gold, the pungent smell, teasing and tickling my nose.
I am eight again.

“Mom!”
“What?”
“Are you even listening? Have you heard anything I’ve said?”
“Yes” I say, “I’m sorry bud.”

I look into the eyes of my son, who is eight.

thoughts from the forest

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