The River's Story

As I stood beside the water
that echoed
like nature's air conditioners
swaying and dancing in the breeze,
I pondered at the river's past.
I thought of how the same body of water
brought forth the flow of words
for James Whitcomb Riley –
birthing a new poem, "At Broad Ripple",
over a century ago.
I remembered his line:
"The river's story flowing by."
It made me think of how
the streaming waterway
has been here for so long
and how things around it
have faded away,
like the Delaware Indian village,
once prominent along the river's edge –
now, just a snapshot of history.
Shells of tiny mussels
are confetti under my feet,
where the water
once spilled into the trees.
I bend down and collect a handful
of the river's leftovers
and return them
to their birthplace.
As ripples scatter
the silver flashes,
swimming as one
beneath the diamonds,
I think of how another poet,
in another time,
will tell the river's story…
"Forever tenderly begun–
Forever new and never done."