A Summer Night on the Creek

On dark summer nights, so black, yet blue, the night noises, sounds that are not quite true,
These nights when you cannot see; but only imagine visions of things,
Stars that are bright, a sliver of the moon, it brings mysterious shadows,
a breeze, just enough to rustle the leaves moves across the dark water,
The water is smooth, quite and calm, only small ripples across the surface.
Suddenly I hear a sound: that seems very near, but it cannot be, as the creek is far away from where I stand.
The sound is a of the movement of water, as oars been swung, dipped and pulled, just a ripple of sound as the oars, whilst it moves the small wooden boat and its crew up the creek, searching for a place to come ashore.
They speak in a soft whisper. But the sound carries across the dark, unseen water, almost foreign it sounds, but familiar to my ears, such as the people on parts of the bay speak.
A voice whispers out “Captain Smith, is a likely spot that we could land, well surrounded by marsh and a beach of sand.
Are we back in time, could this be the shadowy figures of a time long past,
Could this be Captain John Smith and his men exploring the Creek? 400 years ago it’s been since then.

It is nights like this when time slips away and ancient things come back,
Or had they really never left at all, these spirits of time gone by.
Wondrous of what occurs at other times, when the creek is dark on these summer nights