Cottonwoods

Beyond the industrial park is the woods,
and beyond that the river.
The path through the trees is cobwebbed
with white fluff that drifts through the air,
catches in the blackberries.
The forest stops abruptly at the beach,
littered with logs and hunks of driftwood
and little shrubs with roots that cut
through the gray sand like electrical wires.
A yellow butterfly flits erratically, never landing.
A young woman stands at the water's edge
with her tiny daughter.
Waves from a speedboat slap the shore.
The wind picks up. The trees moan.
The woman reaches for the little girl's hand,
grips it so tightly the child grimaces
and squirms to escape.
The trees are waiting for her,
sending their downy emissaries
to show her how easy it is
to float away.