Like siblings of yore on the landscape,
ribboned close always: rivers, railroads.
Playing--in plain sight, side-by-side, not hiding;
where you seek one--oh, look--there's the other.
Long, rowdy sibling things: one loud, one low--
now masked, now sparring--whatever--they are
like pandemic warnings, insistent--more forlorn by the day:
I think I'm meant to mourn, and--following them--get away.
Note 1: We live between the river and the railroad, so I have lived experience of course; but this insight is from Krueger's This Tender Land.
Note 2: Toddler Nu used to pronounce the open e almost as a schwa eg. "Natflix" (for Netflix), "grat" (for great, which we still emulate for cuteness on family chat).
Note 3: Things seem much quieter along the railroad these days--fewer goods traversing the continent or whatever--I don't know.
Note 4: I took this picture of the Red Cedar River last week; L claimed to be able to see hints of Fall.