Whitewater

Whitewater

Listening to
the gentle sound
of water trickling
over rocks
Going in different 
directions
Every bump
Every twist
and turn
Slowly
Quickly
Forever changing
its course
as the stones
wear down
with age
 
Today 
the river
smelled of him
Reminding her
of their life
He had taken her
through whitewater 
Gasping for air
at every bump
Reaching heights
only to splash
hard on the down
Exhilarating 
Backbreaking 
Numbing
 
The bare trees
Now stripped of
their leaves
Naked and alone
Waiting for new
growth
She understood
as she struggled
to maintain
dignity in the
aftermath
of his
raging rapids
She waits
In a holding
pattern
 

 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing ©

In response to:
Sue Vincent's weekly write/photo challenge