| Nocturne Alexandra Yurkovsky |
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When it hurts we return to the banks of certain rivers. - Czeslaw Milosz
I. It was need, a lack, that propelled me down the steps with the bike, down University and across, down Addison and across the tracks to Aquatic Park, my diminutive estuary accumulating from Strawberry Creek, not even a riverrun, but with brackish tidal waters surging in from the Bay beyond I-80. Like the waves pushing, nudging the thin green skin of algae, I pedal through the slowly accumulating dusk, about 9 p.m., the Saturday before the longest day. |
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The road slopes down to the north heel of the pool, a blackbrown mirror reflecting the twilight, still tawny (your coppery, tightly drawnback hair, long back and legs bent over your bike) glassy stretches and scummy, scummed patches as though scabrous with algae. Ducks nibble with beaks so utensilar they seem to vacuum up the water bloom and whatever other aquatic plants and micro- organisms, unconcerned about the water's purity. They float and paddle in pairs, in flocks, as do compact black coots, while great and snowy egrets tend to feed and perch apart, though near each other. ***
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