Along the Moose

river, beneath a wooden bridge
beside the overgrown park

a swirling soufflé of foamy bubbles
branches racing, a stream
in southerly flow --

around the bend ripples
overcome a bridge
of stone. Aware of my presence
a squirrel skitters up a tree.

I am a child of
peanut butter fingers
dreaming a big one,
worm-hooked below surface.

A nearby plaque reads:
“In ’36 three men entombed
141 feet below, seeking crowns
of gold within the granite,
one man died.”

Steeped in time, a left
over village at attention beside
the graveled road

peace and simplicity,
a windy lullaby --
whispers wrapped around
aspen.

© 2011 Richard L. Provencher
Website: www.wsprog.com/rp/