Knowing the beaver come out in the evening, I launched from Porter’s Landing at 7:00 p.m. and sprinted three miles upstream, then turn and paddled slowly and quietly with the current, looking for beaver. I saw 7 beaver, 3 great blue heron, 2 black-capped night heron, and a belted kingfisher: all miraculous. I arrived at the launch just as the dark settled in. By the time I hauled out, this poem had composed itself and was gently asking to be written.
On the Jordan at Dusk
settle into the rhythm…
dip and pull…
breathe…
dip and pull…
breathe…
wiggle
on the keel…
Belted Kingfisher
splashes indigo and rust
on white canvas…
Great Blue Heron
flies low and wide toward me,
and I wonder if I resemble a fish…
pink petals and perfume
droop transfigured into ripe
red rose hips…
evening’s green aromas
drift over the water,
warm and pungent…
silent beaver swim
in the shadows of a gibbous moon,
waning…
Rabbit Lane 
What a magical moment caught forever in a poem – some experiences naturally weave into poetic description and share not just what happened but the feeling 💗
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Thank you! To me, a poem needs both compelling images and emotions. I hope sometimes I hit the mark. I’m glad you enjoyed it!
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