By Margo Waring
The quiet brown river punctuated
by exclamation points of fallen trees.
Standing in the forest shade
surrounded by alder and spruce.
Early spring quiet without insect hum.
Listening to the call of Steller’s jay.
Spot lit by sun a river meadow, edged
by chartreuse of early blueberry;
bright with yellow votives of skunk cabbage
and grasses that give name to spring green.
In the forest, conical stumps tell me
beavers once dammed an eddy,
created a deep place for a home.
then left the lodge and river
to silt, grass and alder.
This meadow– their generations’ effort.
No sign of beavers now.
The meadow their farewell gift,