sounds of the river

There are sounds the river makes
when you float with the current
on a lazy afternoon: 

there’s the rustle and applause
of the cottonwood trees
as the breeze riffles through the leaves,
and even the creak of the tall trunks
when the wind really gets cracking;

there’s the screeching call and response
of the eagle youth and his mother,
the childlet answering her query
from his perch on a nearby branch;

and the plip and plop of fat, frightened turtles
slipping off of their sunning logs
if you venture too close;

there’s the buzz of gnats and biting flies
hovering near your ears,
the rata-tat-tatting of woodpeckers,
and the lapping slap of the water
against your prow.

You might think the river’s silent;
it’s not silent at all… just slow and lazy,
and it guards its largesse of linguistics
waiting for the ear of one patient enough
to stop paddling and listen.

Liz McFadzean