Like the mixing salt and fresh water
making it not favorable for either species,
we have come to a brackish place —
marsh grass obscuring our view, and we,
like young crabs, hiding from imagined predators.
Reading in circles by the lake watching
a lone bee settles on a puddle
birds using the shore as a bath
while a stream flows into the lake
which drains by river to the sea.
Like black-shelled turtles emerging from underground tunnels,
they hide their heads from the rain,
scurry to their assigned dry places,
shake off water, disappear – but for one
blue shell that separates to find ocean.
All the rivers run into the sea.
Tributaries, estuaries where fresh meets salt water.
Rivers are always changing, but the cycle
is invariable; all returns to the headwaters.
Man. Water. There is no new thing.
Palmiet River (South Africa.) enter the Atlantic Ocean
“There is no new thing” – Ecclesiastes 1:7
A heat wave week cresting and breaking
here so far away from an ocean
that would feel so cooling and yet
is warming every day and every year.
I feel mid-year changes within and without.