The Guadalupe was green.
Soft green, as if cloudy.
Not transparent, but secret,
glowing with inward light.
I sat with Anne
on large, flat stones
extending into the water.
The Guadalupe was green.
We watched three tall black birds
forage, from stones in the centre.
We spoke of poetry, Reiki,
friendship, and being blessed
to live in places of beauty.
The Guadalupe was green,
almost turquoise that night
alongside the wooden veranda
where our restaurant table
was full of new friends, good talk,
red wine, and feasting.
The Guadalupe was green.
He swung his truck to a stop, unplanned,
for a river walk in the sun.
We laughed with a little boy, and
a small happy dog … pretending we could be
always ... knowing we could not.
The Guadalupe was a shade of green
I’ve never, anywhere else, seen matched.
Stranger, I longed to merge
with the depths and bends
of that river, to stay connected
forever. Perhaps I did.
Written for Poets and Storytellers United's Friday Writings #235, where we're invited to write about a body of water that holds a special place in our heart. I'm a river lover: mainly the Tamar in Launceston, Tasmania, where I grew up, and the Tweed in Northern Rivers, NSW, where I now live. But I've also fallen in love with some rivers in places I've only visited, most notably the dramatic Urubamba in Peru, and the mystical Guadalupe in Texas, USA.
