the branches swoop calligraphically,
black like squares on a checkerboard,
striped against yellow leaves,
camouflaging with a bumblebee.
leaves unfallen
cast shadows on the unraked leaves below,
the creek a line
cut through the grass,
separating summer from fall,
one side of the bank
green as a garden snake,
the other richly deepening
to a shade of maple,
the carpet of leaves darkening.
the creek is a scale,
setting things to rights,
uniting sides of the earth
with its reflective mirror,
a ribbon
tying everything together
like a mediator.
the creek is an eagle
on its flight of fancy,
meandering along
among the seasons.
they are roads to the sky,
leading wherever
your dreams will go,
and as you walk,
the light dappled on the creek
seems to follow.
Kathryn Sadakierski is a 22-year-old writer whose work has been published in anthologies, magazines, and literary journals around the world, including Blue Marble Review, Halfway Down the Stairs, October Hill Magazine, Northern New England Review, seashores: an international journal to share the spirit of haiku, Snapdragon: A Journal of Art and Healing, The Scriblerus, Tomorrow and Tomorrow, Toyon Literary Magazine, Yellow Arrow Journal, and elsewhere. She graduated summa cum laude with a B.A. and M.S. from Bay Path University in Longmeadow, Massachusetts.