in my younger days i waded the mountain streams
looking for the magical trout
catching, not keeping
always looking
~
sitting on a rock
the water clear and cold flowing around me
the yellow aspen leaves in the eddies
caught for an instant
then turning and swirling away
the rock remains
almost dry in summer
or clasped in winter ice
it remains still
~
she is my rock
The Ace Hotel Notebook 