Down by the river
We walked
The muddy path.
Our feet
Squished, squished, squished
Like amphibians.
An upriver boom
Slowly chased a yellow tug
To a sawmill somewhere.
A fishboat
Named Sea Imp
Soon followed,
Much faster,
Creating a series of crashes
On the river's rocky bank.
Not working
Is not
So bad.
2 comments:
You are so poetic.
Although I write poetry as well, never could I describe not working the way you do. Being a writer,money comes in fits and starts - more fits than starts. For me there is no mat leave, no EI, no safety belt. If I'm having a "mental health day" or hungover, or whatever, I always have to suck it up.
Having been born into a forestry family from PG,I know the lay-offs, the shut-downs that come with it. But you, you make it almost sound bearable, even enviable. Thank you for bringing that lightness to my day.
Ok,that sounds so corny, but whatever. I think you know what I mean.
Some days I envy those not working.
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