Blow-me-down Brook
Elegant and unassuming in the dimming day's luster,
like tarnished heirloom silver,
tucked in a drawer.
Your ancient, hidden stream shimmers through these hills.
Below, muddy trout bathe with snapping turtles and beavers.
Above, namesake gusty winds chase away our goldfinches,
and strip the last huddled trees bare.
While the first hints of winter may signal foreboding,
a foreseeable end.
Your meandering banks and shallows lasso the light,
flowing always, forward.
-JC
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