the bend of a river

is a funny place

both a breeding ground

and a dumping ground

 

it is the island of misfit toys

toys — both gifts of nature and trash of ours

driftwood, glass bottle, lost tennis ball

each with a life lived and others touched

 

it is home to pools and trees and stone

to beavers and birds and snakes

it is the home of a stronger, colder breeze

you are more exposed out here, open

 

ready to be carried away or perhaps

ready to rest on this sandy shore

not quite a final resting place

but at least a stop on your journey