Noisy River

It meanders through the dense forests of the southern New Jersey pinelands,

this 50.6-mile-long river called the Mullica.

We travel past the historic Batsto village

where revolutionaries once fought over this treasured land.

The native Americans were not given a say in the matter.

We come to a bend where the pine trees open their arms,

allowing us a peek at the liquid thoroughfare,

while the sun's glistening rays reflect upon the mirrored surface.

A stone carpet welcomes us,

leading past a thicket of pine towards the beckoning waters ahead.

A rickety wooden bridge takes us into a clearing

dotted with picnic tables, barbeque grills and high-canopied pines.

Peering over the bulkhead,

we seek solace and solitude,

but the roar of humanity drowns out

the deafening quiet which we sought.

Large yachts, mansions, motor boats, boom boxes, jet skis and bathers

outnumber the fish it seems.

Speeding cars and the revving of motorcycles

pierce the air from the adjacent roadway.

I witness no birds of prey or wild animals here.

Undoubtedly they have wisely and hastily retreated to quieter surroundings.

Much we may learn from them.

The kids splash down into the cool river's edge

along the narrow, rocky shoreline.

Skipping rocks is the chose a' faire.

A passing boat creates a wake,

the threat of wet clothing,

intimidating it is not.

I squat down to ponder

what Mother Nature has created

then sit on the soft, green grass.

It's still wet from recent rains

and my damp shorts are proof.

I gander upstream and I am momentarily

blinded by the sun's reflection on the river.

Peace is not found here

and I am certainly disappointed.

Next time I will travel farther and choose more carefully,

for this spot is not for the seeker of isolation.

Sadness for the creatures of the forest and the river I feel.

This was their quiet spot once upon a time.

Maybe they may venture farther on down

towards a more appealing spot.

Follow me for I will lead the way.