The River by Jane Yolen

The River

The slow Connecticut,

clean enough

for sweet salmon

to run its course again

snakes through

greening grass banks

unstartled by spring.

We drive across

macadam bridges,

River Road

to River Road,

over a millenium

of winding water

never getting wet.

Is progress counted

in the distance

we travel

or the distance

we still have to go?