The river of time
We were passing through Connecticut on our way to Massachusetts when there, off to the left, I saw the Housatonic. It looked broad and shallow, and the sun was glinting on its surface. Woods, gray-green in the middle distance, ran along the river’s farther side, and a narrow strip of rocky beach was visible.
Maybe it was the late-summer sunlight or a touch of river mist, but it wouldn’t have surprised me to see a Paugussett paddling a canoe and the light haze of cook fires on the far bank.
Indians by the river
so long, long ago
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