Quack, Quack
By Sarah B., Ridgway, PA
Chunks of fog creep above
Like a child sneaks upon his hidden playmate
Sticks and twigs and trees with no leaves
Here and there, grass and weeds peek out
between the cracked solid stones
There is no wind
There are no waves
I feel nothing.
The tranquil aroma of an autumn morning fills my nostrils
And the cries of machinery echo in the dam
The crickets gently chirp nearby
It’s fresh and cool outside
The air tastes thick like chocolate milk.
I am surrounded by lonely tress and desperate hillsides
It’s dry where I rest on this glorious new day
On the rocks, I breathe
Bubbles pop and ripples expand
But there is still no movement.
On this dull, hazy morning, the earth takes on a
rundown shade of gray
But alas!
Between my heels, up through the rocks
Lives a solitary golden buttercup
The fog begins to ascend, lingering slightly above me
And for the first time this morning
I recognize the beauty of hope.
I rise to my feet
Dock the boat
And continue on my marvelous journey.
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