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On the water
one could not erase the darkened storm clouds to the South
as thunder encircled this old wharf
everything was so old
even “Westward” the wooden craft lying uninhibited on her reach
the wood
only really tempered by the slow fighting of another tide

Why was everything so quiet?
green timbered surrounding
spread over her calm waters
too peaceful for the township of Maclean to impede
we sat that night knowing
that what had taken place was beyond us
just as the future was farther out than we could see
the lightning stood as a warning
to our own unimportance

A boat bisected her perfect face
the wake had moved on
nature was all around us
why could we not touch her?
Everything appeared distant
as the clouds moved closer
the calm was breathtaking
to attempt to look at your self
was as vast as the mountains towering over us
we were as calm as the river
at that moment of bliss

The calm before the storm
why was the river so powerful?
So serene
her glass like exterior
unmoved in that echo
she laid flat