There is turbulence in the river now
where once the stream flowed slowly
and it was pleasant to watch it go.
The view from the bank was placid,
I, an observer, a casual participant
with friends picnicking in the same field,
under the same trees.
It seemed the wine would always pour
from endless bottles, bread and cheese
always within reach,
enough for every meal and in between
time for play and rest.
At least how it is in memory.
I'm not sure when the current quickened,
when rocks along the shore slickened,
unease walking in shallows for the first time,
when laughter came less often,
guests missing from the party
and the river roils before me
no surface for reflections.
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