Archives: Episode

First, we pass under the traffic bridge
where barn swallows build nests of mud.
They disappear in late autumn
leaving stains where their nests once clung
to the underpass.
The river blurs turquoise to brown
under the bridge.

Bright green watercress thrives
year-round in the little stream—
see how it grows thicker by the day.
Notice the informational signs about what kinds of birds
live near the river:
red-winged blackbirds with a patch of ruby on their wings,
emerald-headed mallards, and raucous kingfishers—
now we pass a sign of fish who live in the river—
iridescent rainbow and Bonneville Cutthroat trout who wave
their tails in the swift green current.

See the majestic Wellsville mountains
jut sharp into the western sky.
They shine white, snow-covered,
late into summer.
Did you know that they are the steepest mountains
in the lower 48 states?

Turn around and see the Bear River Mountains
rise emerald behind us in the east.

Now we pass the pastures that fence horses—
dozens of them, black, white, chestnut.
A few hang their velvet snouts
over the fence to greet passersby.
The pastures shine with puddles,
bright pale hay.
The pastures smell of rich thaw,
horse manure.

Hear the music of frogs croaking,
and see the black-necked garter snakes
coiled, shy and olive-bodied,
on the edges of the trail in the grass.

The air vibrates with the jubilant
conk-conk-la-ree!
of red-winged blackbirds
and the cheerful chick-a-dee-dee-dee of black capped chickadees.
Listen! Can you hear the busy chatter of the crested kingfisher?
Can you hear the mallard skimming to a stop on the surface of the river?

At the bend in the trail, we hear
the lonely call of a great-horned owl
tangled in blue branches at dusk.

Here comes the man with one hiking pole
and the old cowboy riding his bike
and the woman who smells like patchouli glides by—
here come the mothers pushing strollers
as they chat with one another, smiling as we pass,
and all the people walking dogs—low-slung black Dachshunds,
gregarious yellow labs, and dozens of doodle mixes,
curly-haired, copper and blonde, and the golden retrievers
who love people, and lick everybody’s hands.

Past the pond,
an off-shoot of the river,
where we see minnows,
their shadows doubling them,
we can’t tell which is minnow,
which is shadow,
and a solitary kingfisher,
slate-blue, perches on a bare tree
that stands straight and tall,
and a small gray
bird skims the water, leaving riffles,
before being swallowed into a gray shrub—

there is the black metal bench
on the side of the trail where we stop to sit
and have a sip of water.

In summer, there are clouds
of white cabbage and pale yellow sulfur butterflies,
and a few orange and black monarchs.

Onto the second bridge,
this one too over a shallow pond,
where in summer small white flowers
dot the water, and wild cucumbers
with their spikey shells drape
on their vines. The silt is gray
and dappled and here we hear
the raspy call of a marsh wren
rattling cattails.

We pass the mobile home park
with blue and yellow homes
and over the bridge where on both sides
we are surrounded by gold cattails,
slowly exploding fluff,
and in summer, the blue of blue vervain.

And then onto the cow pastures
where Canadian geese nest and squawk.
We see a pair of sandhill cranes
in winter gray feathers
in the pasture, picking their way
between gold cattails.
They each have a bright red dot
under their eyes.

Look! A bald eagle!
Slow, deliberate flapping,
ebony-winged, ivory-headed.

And then to the sidewalk
that is lined with fragrant pink wild roses in June.
We see Trapper Park in the distance,
the new brick restrooms,
the pavilion with new exercise equipment,
and the brown bear perpetually climbing the side
of the toy set,

but before we get there,
let’s linger at the spring
that spills silver water over emerald
velvet moss.