Clear water on a Catskill stream spills,
flowing down a smooth rock face
into a pool shaped like a cup held within
high rounded walls. A Chinese painting,
think of that, fine brush strokes forming
fissured cracks from which green ferns
unfurl lace while light falls feathered
through new leaves as I stand, dreaming,
rod in hand, in what I know is sacred space,
when all at once the water wakes as mayfly,
caddis, stonefly, midge rise, fluttering, to fly,
spin, dance, while trout, in frenzied feeding,
swirl; abundance, yes, the gift of that, from
living water springing forth.
—Sarah Rossiter
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