and

The rock is cold beneath my bare feet

the sun strains to reach past the tree, 

and 

its waking rays muster up the fuerzas to warm me. 

 

The river rushes below me 

and 

laughter trickles up,

campers in need of a quick bath 

have braved its frigid waters 

on this brisk fall morn. 

 

The smell of onions sizzling 

wafts over from a nearby campsite 

and 

the words I have just read 

linger in my mind. 

 

Birds shout their songs in the morning air, 

their melodies 

mingling with the creek’s chorus

and 

I am left musing, 

book in hand, feet on rock, confused.