Evensong
       

Walking the river trail,
I see one boat, one fisherman
on the river, his back
against low sun.
I think of the Dakota,
the early ones in their river
solitude, knowing the currents
and when to head to shore.
Darkness narrows the river's
silver path. I'm heading
home myself, up the steep hill,
a little breathless. A chill
from the woods touches my arm.
How we come to evening.

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Copyright © 2017 Norita Dittberner-Jax All rights reserved
from Crossing the Water
Nodin Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission