On a fog misted fall morning
the Widow Wyile extricated herself
from the comfort of her warm bed
covers though the land outside was still
blanketed in plump billows
she parted with her pillows
pulled on her pink woollen legs
and arms and cold weather
kayak gear and set out
for the muddy banks of
that narrow winding
Jijuktu’kwejk
you can say it easily
just be sure to do that with glee
go gee-gee-wok-tok
now say it again
and again
perfect isn’t it?
Jijuktu’kwejk
a river that winds you
through the earth
both slowly and quickly around
her curves
a watery switchback
that draws you
into dream of sun and grasses
short green and tan gold rushes
tassled guardians of the banks
where unseen otters undulate along
organic paths they’ve carved
close to the sturdy stems 

the day sparkles as only autumn
days do bright
with transformation
tree people more sparsely clad
in their ceremonial colours
dancing lightly in the pleasingly fresh
fall breeze
horses graze in the distance
eagles and crows wing by
at different heights
by turn
and the Widow Wyile
reflects
as her pals chat up ahead
that Jijuktu’kwejk
is teaching her the deeper
meaning of
meandering
and of its intrinsic value
in feeling
connected
to the ineffable
wonders
of tangible elements
water   air   earth
and her place among them
and all
our lives