She whispers my name... Only I can hear

Saturday, October 04, 2008

The Miniature Forest

Down at the river
Along the old railroad line
Which is now a bicycle path
Way up behind Niska Isle

These are backwaters
Of the mighty Mohawk
Where beaver and muskrat
Hold up for the winter

This place


The name a native term
From the Connestigiune tribe
Big river flats blessed with corn

This is farmland still

Here and there
Works of the old railroad
May be seen

Slag from the ash
Of burning coal
Can be found alongside the path

Man has touched this place
But nature adapts
Bends the works of man
To her own will
Over time

As with the rusty iron bridge
That connects the farms on Niska Isle
To the mainland

It replaced a much older bridge
Made of wood

Here and there
Posts, pilings and footings
May still be found

And so it was
As I unsuccessfully
Attempted to photograph an Egret
Beside me I noticed
A fading wooden post

A closer look revealed

The miniature forest