The picture above is of the Poudre River near Fort Collins, Colorado. It signals the end of my western trip and the beginning of my return to the east. I brought up about 5 fish on the Poudre but failed to land any.
As I drove toward the Catskills for the photo session, I played golf, rode my bike and was astonished by the 100 degree heat.
This morning in a Starbucks in the Plaza section of Kansas City I wrote this poem for my ex partner, in a whirl of intense passion and focus.



For Tracy

A Creek in British Columbia


We had driven three thousand miles
To fish this one stream, especially to try
Three of the deepest pools.

I wasn’t sure I would ever be back,
The chemotherapy finished the month
Before, numbness still in my
Hands and feet, and a bad knee
the doctors thought may have also come
From the toxic brew.

It didn’t matter as long as I got you here
And you caught some of the fifteen inch grayling
That visit each summer.

I wouldn’t cast at first,
wanting the pleasure of each fish
To be only yours, partially because you were my best student,
From your first cutthroat on Yellowstone’s Bear Creek,
But more because I wanted to thank you
For coming to spend the last hour or so
Of the chemo sessions.

After Janet got the intravenous needle in,
And I had covered the site with a small towel,
I would busy myself with my laptop, a newspaper,
Or a book, but after two hours my focus faltered
And time slowed like a heart about to die,
But one that didn’t, the minute hand on the big clock
almost refusing to move.

Then you would appear, dressed for court,
And the seconds would return, like punished children
Sent to sit in the corner and now released,
and I could actually smile
For a moment and bless your coming
Like some simple sacrament.

So those grayling were my gift,
And as we neared the biggest pool,
I watched and knew my present
Was better than anything store bought,
Perhaps not equal to yours,
But the best I could do in difficult times.