Gratefulness swoops down on me
like a great blue heron as I drive
along the San Dieguito River Basin,
top down on my 1970 restored Corvette.
I’ve switched to the classical station
to sidestep news of tsunami wreckage,
possible nuclear melt-down in Japan,
both of which will one day be cleaned up,
relegated to history books, but now
I want to hear the Emerson String Quartet
playing Ives and Barber as the heron gently
touches down on my shoulder, wings flapping
keeping time with the beat of the music.
Yellow daisies stretch their long necks
over the guard rail shouting, Look at me,
Look at me, but instead I turn my attention
to the blue and white barge busy dredging
silt, sending it through a submerged duct
a mile or so east beyond Interstate 5.
You can’t see the silt or where it’s going
and in a day or two, the barge will be gone,
moved on to another dredging job
as even now I feel a lightness growing
on my shoulder, a picking up of wind
as the great bird prepares for lift off
                                    R. T. Sedgwick

Listen to: Fleeting

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