These Hazy Days

Riverbed

amidst the shade of living life,
the riverbed rests its rusty bones.
across its body shadows play,
ghosts of summer's children flown.

its gleaming stones have dulled with dust,
the youthful wink of its waters diminished.
its clutches weaken with each new dawn,
its reign in this valley nearly finished.

the old footbridge has grown lonesome,
has lost its purpose and its passion.
I suppose its only duty now
is to announce the river's passing.

for soon the evergreen huckleberry,
the holly, the salal,
will overtake its gravel bed
and flourish through the fall.

the Douglas fir, the bleeding heart,
the snow and salmonberry,
have already begun to grow and thrive
among the pebbles, green and merry.

did its waters wear a silver shawl
or slip by in shades of blue?
were its currents rapid, its wave-crests white,
or was it steady in its hue?

I feel that I am fortunate
to have witnessed its decay.
and thus, old river, farewell, my chap.
I hope you enjoy your final days.