The Walks That Weren't To Be

I walked the waterfront this morning in Newburyport. It’s Yankee Homecoming and street vendors were everywhere. The question is, of course, where are the Yankees coming home from. And, personally, I’d wish they’d stay there. Too much traffic and such!

In the evening I walked the road along the river. The late sunshine felt awfully fine.

But the poem tonight came from the walks that weren’t to be.

Sonnet August Two

I had planned to walk the beach at the Plum Island Refuge
but the piping plovers were still nesting—it was closed.
So I drove instead to Hellcat Swamp supposing
I’d walk the Dunes Loop. The parking lot was empty—
I was psyched! But as soon as I stopped the car
I discovered the reason for this prospect of solitude.
The greenheads were massing all around me. They battered
the windows mistaking the warmth from the metal I guess
for the heat of blood—and they wanted in through the orbs.
One landed on the glass and I stared at its green bug-eyes,
exactly the green of the leaves surrounding us
and I pondered oh there they fly, embodied in
those merciless lenses, smelling full the color
behind August and intending to take me with them.

~Son Rivers 2005