Black River Gorges

by Melody 

I saw the view three times.

The first: clouds were high, but growing heavier

until a finger smudged one, sky to mountain;

a semi-transparent veil.

The second time it was layers of blue and washed-out green.

Clouds, low and steamy,

drifted like floating bodies in water.

We silent observers

let tiny white birds and a waterfall

(life and movement far down there) take our attention.

The third time: rain was a wall of grey that mountains slept behind;

out of sight and mysterious.

We stood in down-pour, and didn’t complain

as ribbons of water fell off umbrellas and rivers of water soaked our feet.

Air fresh, we left,

let down the windows and sighed at the mist in the trees.

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