North Yuba River
We swam in this snow-cold alpine river,
looked at trout through SCUBA masks,
picked up perwiinkles, which sheathed
themselves in tiny tubular mosaics
they made from grains of gravel.
The river was cold enough to make bones
ache. The sun was hot enough to make us
want to go back in the river again. We were
young and quick and facing upstream like
trout. Now we're not young, we're slow,
and you couldn't get us to go into such a
river without a push or a pull.
Our focus is downstream, where
the river falls away or takes a bend
into the blue canyon.
Copyright 2008 Hans Ostrom
