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Weathered stairs lead to an overlook I call 'the
vista'. From up here, traffic has become a stream
of headlights, the din reduced to a murmur.
The North Saskatchewan River carved this valley
from a flat plane crushed by glaciers some 100,000
years ago. It winds Northeast, feeding sediments
to Hudson's Bay-nourishment for water organisms,
sustenance for waterfowl.
And here, at the top of the stairs, a tiny river
flows through my veins. Just lately, I've started
to carry a note: "In case of death or injury
call ... ." I'd like it to also say "Don't
resuscitate," but know that should the paramedics
find me still alive, I'll become another kind of
mechanical traffic, fluids forced through arteries,
oxygen into lungs.
The car fumes cast a yellow tint to the evening
light-are hurrying along global warming. In 100,000
years, another glacier; these human artifacts gone,
the river of water still flowing, the valley carved
yet deeper.
returning again
to the river valley vista
saskatoon blooms
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