On the path Marsh grasses, sleeping turtles hidden Water flowing through and underneath the boards that make this bridge Bird talk echoing among a stand of trees ahead the invisible made visible In the creaking sway of tall thin trunks, I am fortunate in my silence watching a yellow throated warbler return to its’ nest In an eroded hollow of a nearby tree On this path, in this moment Not knowing, just moving feet forward
Wildlife refuge: where one can drive over the gravel path raising dust, while un-disturbing the majority occupants, then stop and walk the path through a small stand of trees, the willow, the ash, the cottonwood in spring foliage, leading to a bird blind catching a fleeting glimpse of a yellow-throated warbler as it returns to its nest in an eroded hole in that nearby tree, noticing a swath of matted grass crosses the path where a turtle has treaded toward the wetter part of the wetlands, the path meanders, each turn exposing peninsulas of grasses between exposed lakes of open water, this vast acreage is to the East of the Columbia River, as one listens there is the periodic high pitched squeal as flanges of steel turn on distant rails lining the rivers edge, it is almost summer, this year there is still plenty of melted mountain snow flooding this lowland, today there are numerous small birds that appear and disappear mystically from the tall marsh grasses, a few egrets, circling in the distance it could be an Eagle, it could be a hawk, circling over the refuge grasses the rush, the smartweed, the pondweed, the canary grass, the cattail, the coontail, in this clearing, where one stops for a breath on this remnant of open land, where these ponds flood each year as they have since our ancestors feeling the vastness of the view, feeling untouched fullness of life, feeling my breath
