The river trail winds northward,
West, then, toward the confluence
With the Ogden;

With scent of rotting cottonwood leaves,
Twigs now bleak grey-mauve--
Nature's pause before the bitter cold--
River’s rush subdued
In afternoon-light of dim November,
Rail lines strangely abandoned,
Warehouses empty and bare.

Man-flavor much of the mix here, old and new—
And I never would have come today
Without You.

11/27/2009

Author's Note: Impressions along the Weber

Posted on 11/28/2009
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes