The River

After a reading in Stranger by the River by Paul Twitchell and contemplating the passage I took my own journey of soul:

The River

Always the River.
Early Autumn.
Gentle current carries the first yellow leaves
dropped from the willow on the bend.
Turtle slips into the water from a slight crag at the inlet shallows.
Inch-long fish in school turn quickly to show an instant glint of sun
from under the surface near the reeds.
The temperature pleasant with buttoned sleeves.

I listen.

More the breath of God
than a million gallons per second flowing home.
I am sleeping already in the arms of love.
Yes! How could life be more than what it is in this moment?