At the dam I lay down flowers
in tribute to a time
when water ran free.
My love for this place shimmers
like a rainbow trout in cold water.
I wear it like a banner, happy and humble -
a sun-baked quilt pinned to the barn.
In small vials I collect the mud from my boots. They will go in a museum.
I will visit this place tucked in bed,
before I fall asleep.
So many microbes and other microscopic beings I’ve met along the way.
When left alone for a while,
they form strange congregations.
All of these memories mingle, morph.
Eventually they will melt, like snow -
glistening through the ridges of the Catskills,
trickling like bells
ringing in the forever-new
on their descent to Neversink.
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