I wish I could give you Sunday on the river

after the first warm spell, a good thirty degree change,

held for a week- a week of work, working its changes

on people's faces, and now relief. I wish I could give you

that freeing of not having to wear a heavy coat, of knowing

nothing is going wrong without you on the job because the whole

damn thing is closed.

I wish I could give you the incredible freshness in the air,

clean and cool, maybe a hint of something sweet like watermelon,

maybe a hint of earth, what the gardeners dream rich and ready dirt.

I wish I could give you the glide of the water, the careful paddle, because that

water's cold, the quiet happiness of my husband, how much we both

love this, as right away, a couple of geese are noisily squawking our intrusion

and then-take off.

I wish I could give you the sudden flash and gleam when the sun comes out,

the warmth along your back, especially your neck. Close your eyes a second

and drift.

I wish I could give you the ice receding, the shelves along the banks,

the minuet caves, the thinning of the ice so you can see the water beneath

streaming like a vein. I especially wish I could give you that because the sound

is unlike anything you've heard. The dripping of the ice melt, like tiny fingers quickly

touching some glass instrument, a crystal like tone, high and light-music.

I wish I could give you this because it is fleeting, the ice will be gone soon,

work will return soon, the crushing cold will have another day or two or weeks when it returns...because this is early, so unexpectedly early-but it is Spring.

I wish I could give you the blue heron and the ducks we kicked up. Jim and I together,

the foolish little conversations, that we can be completely ourselves...

Loving this natural world that has no need of our love ...

I wish I could give you Sunday on the river.