My book fell in a river and rolled
Over and over turning its pages for the sun. From a bridge I saw this.
An eagle dived and snatched the slippery volume.
Now somewhere in the forest that book educates
Eagles, turns its leaves in the wind,
and all those poems whisper for autumn
to come, and the long nights, and the snow
My Lovely Daughter chose this poem to illustrate for a school project many years ago. I am happy to have discovered it through her.
Tonight Lovely Daughter and Keeper Husband are camping, somewhere in the Northern Woods with strangers (or new friends) whom they met online in a chat group for those who have Jeep Wranglers.
I have the GPS coordinates so that I will know where to start looking if they don't show up on Monday.
I wonder if she will see eagles soaring or come across a poetry book in the forest.