After the ribbon-cutting ceremony at Snk-mip,
Celebrating the restoration of lost wetlands,
After the first couple of real swims of the year
In the stunningly benign mirror of the Slocan,
Or “Shlu-keen,” the “spear fishing” lake,
After the drive back up to Red Mountain,
The house was quiet, except for the creek
And occasional gusts of wind. Flats and flats
Of hothouse flowers littered the ground, ready
To become rampantly colorful beds in the dark
Woods, this summer’s one-summer-only garden.
No comments:
Post a Comment