What I am thinking.
what am i thinking?
I suppose you can guess where I was when I wrote this poem... Yes, it was indeed Garibaldi Lake, amid the high country between Squamish and Whistler in British Columbia. I sat there lakeside, blue-white glaciers easing themselves into the water on the far side and greyscale juts of granite poking into the high skyline, and I watched the mirror finish of the lake lift slightly and ripple with the rising of dining trout. It's not uncommon for fly fishermen to refer to this as "sipping". Up from below, a fish journeys to the surface, briefly breaking into the air with an open mouth, engulfing a mayfly or mosquito or beetle or anything else. It's entrancing to witness. Little more than a kiss -
Red-band rainbow surfacing, Saturn's rings, Expanding like the galaxy, Like sound through water, Letting the other fish know About the mayflies Trouncing atop the lake.
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