Updated: Aug 5, 2018
By Zebedee Rear
"Once we get out of the trees..."
Charlie left the rest of his sentence
with the other unfinished lines of cloud
as we drove.
We left the forest behind
and the world filled it's lungs
no longer could I reach the horizon
with a thrown stone.
The sky arched it's back,
drifting cirri hissed past.
Sage was left smoldering
on the well scrubbed tabletop.
Years earlier, the fruiting bodies
of the salmonflies had swarmed
around the whorls
that you could feel half a bear,
snatching them from the waters
tension and biting down.
About the author: Zebedee Madison is a traveling poet born and raised in the Pacific Northwest. He returns perennially to sit quietly in the forests.