Morning on the Stilliguamish From the damp shelter of our tent, I wake to insistent calls. The crows will have their say. I scramble down to the water's quiet edge. The fingerlings float by and wait for River insects to make their daily sacrifice For the good of the food chain. Birch tree soldiers hold fast on the opposite shore Clouds accumulate in the east, Halted by foothills. September chill erases the memory of yesterday's hot afternoon. Eventually, the day will again heat up with activity. Possibilities exist in present tense: Could we stay happy here?
Š Neil McKay 2012