By the Salem River at Sunset

purple sunset skies,
streaked in ribbons of blue
and bands of blood-orange,
hover silently above
the silent river banks below,
from whose lips
the Salem River withdraws
in a noiseless retreat
into itself;
nearby, from where I see,
children play feverishly,
desperately wringing the last drops of fun
out of the remaining moments of this fast-waning day,
their blonde tresses and brown locks whip-tailing their
whipping, whirling heads as they
run and laugh and twist and jump
under the monkey bars
thru the barrels
down the slide;
feeling the invitation
and accepting it,
I visit moments
in my own album of memory
when, as a child, I remember
playing contentedly in my mother’s shadow,
and, knowing nothing of time or anticipation,
could perceive, as yet untainted,
the minutiae and meaning in things and events,
each moment a self-revealing and immediate truth;
and now,
in this place,
at this time,
as I sit facing the west,
retreating into myself
by this river in the North Shore,
seeing what I see,
hearing what I hear,
feeling what I feel,
my heart likes it here
in this now.

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