Walking Down River Street (poetry)

There are birds a long the ivy wall,
running the length of the cobble stone.
The crisp breeze weaves around buildings
as it carves a razor path through the air.

A golden day has emerged from winters deepest sleep,
as the sunshine inundates the earth with a fresh energy.
I walk with an awkward sort of grace as my feet attempt to balance,
upon this road made of ballast from so many long forgotten ships.

It's springtime in Savannah,
and River Street bursts with a fantastic vibrance;
from the light steps of the tourists to the purposeful march
of the restaurant employee passing on my right.
He walks with a bag of garbage slung over each shoulder,
as a bead of sweat rolls down his cheek.
He extends only a nod and a smile, yet his simple gesture
seems to communicate so much more about the serenity of this day.

A noise, the whisper of quiet music
begins to make it's presence known.
It's the jubilant melody of a fiddle player
standing before an open case and a crowd.
I make my way toward them
in order to take in this scene.
Such a brilliant mix of strangers
united by a street performers song,
is exactly why this city has an unmatched charm.

A small child consumed by an invisible passion
dances with no regard for the crowd,
as pure expression is all she knows.
The people perhaps unconsciously, sway in unison.
And for a moment even I, twenty yards behind
cannot help but keep with their time.

What could be more tranquil, and better for the soul
than taking in the sights, and the intoxicating zeal of Savannah?
The city that springs to life each year as the pink azaleas bloom.

Hunter Dasten was born May 3rd, 1987 in Marietta, Georgia. He currently lives and writes in Savannah, Georgia.

An archive of Hunter's articles is located here.

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