Saturday, January 29, 2011

A River of Stones 28. Her Scarecrow

As we skirt around washaways
and exclaim at uprooted trees,
flattened reeds, the loudness
of running water still a foot deep
on the causeway, she tells me
how she cleaned out the shed
assembled a scarecrow out of
wooden remnants of antique
furniture. "It will have swinging
legs! And arms!" says her
daughter. With all the rain we've
had, he will be busy, guarding
a runaway garden, vegetables
flourishing while the rivers clean
dirty beds, slept in too long.

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