Sunday Afternoon on the Creek

From peddlers to paddlers
In three generations
Thanks to a not so
Grim shift in the fortunes
Of my family
With ups and downs
Riding at times
Counter cyclical to the
General drift of things

Bringing me here
Paddle in hand
Where I can glide
Along the surface
Of Weesuck Creek
Sailing without canvas
Or mast in this bare
Plastic hull

And where each passing
Crosshatch of
Stratus and cumulus
Expresses the whim
Of gods unknown
And the startled covey
Of starlings denotes
Another auspicious
Occasion