On The Weber River

I knew it was under that rock

big fat brown, undulating with the current

twisting its hips back and forth

trying so hard to not be seen

but I knew it was there, I’d watched it feed

ripples stretched and snatched by the stream

I’d been coming here weeks, trying to tempt it

but nothing worked

it didn’t want my worms, it didn’t want my flies

damn thing wouldn’t even take a spinner

yellow and brown, that I angled just right

to come up with the current

right above him

I’d sit in the mud, frustrated,

switching my setup

and it would just hang there

in the shadow under that rock

twisting its hips back and forth;

Then it hit me, one day

watching it ignore my lime green bait

maybe I’m not here to catch that brown

maybe it’s not about the fish

maybe it’s about the sky and the way

clouds stretch thin through it

maybe it’s about the conversation of the river

the chuckle and giggle over its stones and ripple

maybe it’s about watching the owl drop like a hush

from the dead aspen to snatch his dinner

with a whisper

maybe it’s about the wind that puckers my skin

beneath the warm of my fleece

maybe I’m not out here to catch that fish

twisting its hips back and forth

maybe I’m out here

trying to catch myself