Nisqually Blue https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/t2627 Runboard| Nisqually Blue en-us Fri, 29 Mar 2024 12:02:50 +0000 Fri, 29 Mar 2024 12:02:50 +0000 https://www.runboard.com/ rssfeeds_managingeditor@runboard.com (Runboard.com RSS feeds managing editor) rssfeeds_webmaster@runboard.com (Runboard.com RSS feeds webmaster) akBBS 60 Nisqually Bluehttps://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p17607,from=rss#post17607https://bdelectablemnts.runboard.com/p17607,from=rss#post17607Nisqually Blue On the Nisqually river. It’s how it must have been for them, for those first earth looped men who would’ve quietly come treading beside this upstream river ride, coming close on the great elk herd, the strong backed stag, or the steelhead shouldering in, and always so very sure of the natural order guiding them there. But for me it was you and Nisqually blue, in the way you were lightly stepping on the spongy ground where the salient stream of the white water river can change the earth face it time it takes for any one man to find his familiar. It’s just how nature’s sinuous lead danced to your reed that day. It’s what I first felt in sudden breeze raking up through headwater and turning in the whirl of your desire, the invisible threads, curling strands, broadening bands of your certain desire. And Nisqually room of lodge pole valley or the puffy cloud cover closing us in, what keeps out the tug and pull that always must describe separate-but-equal friends. Down inside red alder and the cottonwood, the dappled gray brothers of late winter, and having left the Sure Foots, the bearded men and quiet women who kept back beside blazing fire sign, who stayed just within smokey orange glory of the emotive, the soulful, the spiral story. And not really thinking, unless the thought be you. Just form and flesh of finger tip thinking brushing me near to where you stood. Or somehow the bottomless moment when we touched the close unsayable answers, and how you felt your way into that day, just the way you leaned inside the leasing line of stories that day, or how it was when the bottom dropped under by the running river bank, and then you said “in another life I’ll come back happy but now I’m scheduled for silent heart-hurt.” Then the Nisqually blind when I lost sight and sense of you, losing your footsteps inside the gray light and still looking for your lead, knowing you must be so very close. Then the sudden nighthawk flying low and out from under the sky cup in cloud cover canopy, and touching and turning where you sat on the raised river bank’s tree chair. Rounding your face back to me, letting me see inside the berry brown forest girl: so very close inside, still so very close the highlight feelings lustrous in your lead. And I couldn’t be that easy, or not until you showed the shouldering tree, the burnished bark, the furrowed marks and the greening dream in nimbus risen around the lowly yew crown. It was how he nudged us then, like an older friend you cannot forget, telling how the time had come to let go, to fall in after. And brightly now the white Nisqually sound while the wild woman kept on coming to the surface in your face. And the river wash, the beating echo soaking down around valley’s Venus mound, wetting the long hem of your skirt as you went from stem to stem, crossing to, cutting out, coming in, your instep’s narrow crease in the earth. Then the quiet, the hover of silence, the hush inside darker cedar shade pulling into where you pulled on your lover; only then the Nisqually mood when we opened up on the doorway, giving in on the sibylline, the raised Mother Rock, the belly boulder, beneath cedar bough bending, and gracious ground filling through, to sweep inside white river spray, carrying us before the lore, the higher game in famous secret, to feel our way back beside thrown back behind the Earth Woman’s tidal quake.nondisclosed_email@example.com (Terreson)Sun, 19 Jul 2020 02:53:45 +0000