October at Eno River

Crisp carnival excitement fills the nostrils, billows the chest—cedar bark, leaf litter underfoot, campfire smoke and silt.

Northerly wind parts arm hairs to lean like pines in a hurricane, over hilled valleys of goosebumps.

Turtle hand sprays river drops to tongue, notes the ironic Spring bergamot taste.

Blue Heron splashes and soaks in the golden hour, calls to Owl and Crow to hold back the night.

Leaves fall as rocks stand stiller yet, to shelter crashing currents that sluice slanted light.