Sometimes in winter,
a cold wind blows across
the Tualatin valley fields
— inland from the coast
Gathering from the edge
of the western horizon ,
winding down beneath
Tualatin river valley skies
The prevailing Westerlies swirl
as they eddy down below
the Rock Island knoll
Where summer love drifted along
afloat in an old red canoe ,
trying to catch the summer breeze
trying to catch the wind
Fleeting memories course ahead
gusting across the Old Willamette
log booms; time soaked and
left behind from the bygone
days they mark
The night train’s whistle,
blares 3 times each crossroad passed
Every Canemah crossing
roars a reverberating echo,
Bouncing back and forth
off the valley rock walls
heading down river,
Northbound tracks clatter,
past the falls view cliffs
framing the river below the falls
Bellowing whistle blasts
escaping eastbound
beyond Singerhill crossing,
ascending with the wind
at there back, set free up over
the Mt Hood rolling foothills
like a tempest gust rising across
the tawny meadow creek bed
with the sound that sorrow makes
Through the open windows
listening with eyes open wide ;
breaking the silence
with the night train’s distant echo
upon this broken hill
Like a leaf upon the breeze
from a far distant horizon,
an aching sigh bellowing
through grieving silence —
coming for to carry her home…..
I overheard the maker calling from above
… and I heard a sorrow in the wind
03/05/2023 — harlon rivers —
published June 6, 2026