at magic hour
down to the river.
We walked on the marsh
as the tide was low
we could walk below the tide line
observing reflections
clear
from the muck
and even from the fallen
amongst tall grasses
we continued to Bob Baker's tree
intensified by the hour
the brightness and clarity of the light
my love and the history of the river.
Rocks from a field made long ago
an old overturned boat
a weathered dock post
...and then on the way back we heard peepers for the first time this year.
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