The prose of my youth written in the free verse of of an unstructured style.
Rock Run Creek
Upland creeks play peek-a-boo with us,
Quickly charging in concert with a rain,
Drying up to a trickle in summer's drought,
They drain swamp meadows trickling down.
Rock formations, stone boulders of every size
Sculpt the landscape along Rock Run Creek.
Ebbing and flowing, running water pools in little
Ponds edged in muddy sandbars ever changing.
My innocence was rudely interrupted at a pond
One spring day. Farm cats were prolific breeders
Out near Harmonyville, Chester Co. or anywhere.
How does a farmer gain control of these felines ?
Hookie and Kenny, the younger Wade farm boys,
Were carrying a burlap bag that sagged quite low
As they approached the deep pool of water where
I was skipping flat stones across it that morning.
"Don't watch, Ronnie, if you don't want to." they
Hollered. But I watched in wonder, aghast, amazed.
The bag sunk quickly out of sight, the newly born,
Sightless kittens made sounds, squirmed, drowned.
I was skipping stones across the rock strewn creek
When a stone weighted bag of newly born kittens
Sunk quickly when it was tossed in, without remorse.
Stones don't talk, but they too observe and wonder.
Ronald C. Downie