By the River’s Edge
by Peter Olevnik

As thoughts as pebbles thrown
And splash and are absorbed
By gentle yet currents quickly
Running and subdue – no, merge –
My thoughts with the afternoon.

I sit upon the black ground,
And watch the swift, brown flow
And feel a chill alone
But see the black elm
Gently played by summer breeze,

Extend her arching arms
As though by fingers touch
To match the other side
As distant thunder shakes the sky
With ranges reaching before my eyes.

I rise to stop the chilling damp
Fill quickly through my being
As quickly my shoe, soil filled,
Now wide worn, and begin to walk
Along the yellow-leafed patch.

The rain begins to fall
Upon the dark roof of sweeter memory
And turns again to gentle snow
And again to rain, and
Again I turn to go.

Author's Note: In this poem I recall my youth in the mid-west watching a summer storm begin to form. As the seasons passed, I drew on the sweet memory of that time sitting alone in the woods by the river’s edge.
    Writing and painting have been a part of me much of my life. I was able to combine them in a career as a college librarian. Asheville seemed a perfect place to pursue these interests. It has been our home for the past 11 years.