Vernal Equinox Mary Chatfield Unbound from winter swollen with the melt the river black reflective moves imperceptibly eastward. On the boathouse ramp the crews sit clumped waiting dull-colored like autumn’s leavings rediscovered in the thin March sun. From feeding somewhere deep out of the river’s body slides a swan its sibilant shape so unforeseen so stark you cry out ‘There’s a swan on the river,’ and someone answers ‘That’s a good sign.’					This Story by David Koehn To a Literary Friend by Constantine Contogenis Vernal Equinox by Mary Chatfield

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