Our home, which I call “River Ridge”, sits on a glacial knoll. From our deck and our bedroom (where I have my little office) there are wonderful views of the Huron River. The river makes a sharp bend just downstream from where Honey Creek enters, and then heads east, widening as it approached the Barton Dam. The river teams with life in all the seasons. Even now in winter a couple families of swans find open water to patrol. A resident bald eagle flies up and down the river and perches on a dead ash tree across from us. The fish are there, biding time in winter, the big bass and pike hunting the smaller fish even in the cold water. This spartan little poem came about as I pushed back my desk chair and gazed out the window in December. The images from trees across the river were shimmering in the wind-riffled water.
Huron River Reflection
December, far bank trees
nude now, no leaves
their reflections
on the Huron
shivering
before the freeze
Brian J. Zink 2022 Copyright applies
BJZ Poems and Musings 
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