Wooden Boats

Winding our way through the hillside

We found ourselves at a little stream

It ran down a steep embankment

A rush of water that created a soft melody

Nothing loud enough to startle the birds in the trees

Or awaken a butterfly from a trembling dream

Small wooden boats

Each ascribed a number painted in red

Wobbled and teetered down the creek

Bopping about like Scruffy the Tugboat

A delight for a small child to run along the riverbank

Cheering its progress

Freeing it from dams of oak leaves and small rocks

The sun glittered through the dancing leaves

And I looked toward the sky

“Russell, I wish you could see this”

I whispered

Even though I knew you weren’t there

You were already miles away

Somewhere up in the sky

Streaming your way towards Seattle

Earphones in

Magazine sliding off you lap and tumbling to your feet

As you fall into a doze

Jostled awake by the passing flight attendant

You reach for the magazine

Clear your throat

And settle back in to your quick, efficient

Destination