The Taylor River
by Ignatius Peacher

This was different than home.
We had gone beyond genteel traveling.
The cabin, pitch black.
The rushing river resounding
Greater than its width would lead to believe.
Morning presented us with a gift unwrapped
The river passed quickly and clean near the house,
Its sound and the cool air of the morning
Like a shower that cleansed us.
The house, our wonderful little cabin for a week
Had a balcony facing the river
and healthy pine and aspen trees around.
Light shafts came in diagonally through the trees.
On the second night, we stammered down the stairs to see the stars.
They crushed us with their immensity,
Reminding us of our smallness,
And the possibility of infinity.
Carefree days lost their names.
Mornings evolved to take-your-time breakfasts.
Evenings poured like red wine
In the open wildflower-scented air.
Our last day we went river rafting.
One of the young, athletic guides introduced herself.
She was Taylor,named after the river.
She had been coming there since she was a girl.
There was courage in her introduction
But timidity too.
Years later,
That trip to Colorado appears like a constellation,
Memory points its finger:
Look, there’s the river and the cabin,
And there’s the girl raised by the river
Twinkling with her smile.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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