Origin

I am from clothes smelling of wood smoke

I am from the uncoiling fern shoot in spring’s warmth

I am the rainbow trout caught on creekside banks

I am from the flyrod pocket-knifed from green shoot of yellow cedar

from tying flies of osprey feathers, tree sap and sharpened staples,

I am from hummingbird fields on mountain tops

lapping at the heartstopping nectar of foxgloves  

I am from blackcap, huckle, and salmon

I am from lost lakes where orange bellied newts do the backstroke

discovered by leaving the trail and not worrying about getting lost

I am the coyote howls on clear nights under a forest of stars

only seen in jigsaw pieces through a canopy of douglas

I am from brown bats whizzing at mayflies

and tossed rocks into crystal pools

I am from lichen on granite in morning dews

from cliffs carved by rain and roaring rivers

I am the dampness of decaying pine needles under bare feet

moss gardens in shadowed glens

I am from grasshopper hunting and deer tracks in mud

from wood sorrel belly aches and horsefly bites

I am Fish Creek.