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Can’t take my eyes off of you, in the Northwoods, just get over here in the tent, and that will suffice. It is good to show off the place, and to feel smug.

Indeed.

Clark Fork III

 

When the mountains, lakes, rivers, creeks, streams, call, here is a day when all goes that way. We’ll be just a little smug.  I’ve heard the echoes off all those mountains and streams, I know the shadows of big valleys, we all do, those of us born here, along the riverbed. Here is bear grass and mock orange, in big scents, time spent in honeysuckle and wild rose and many berries. These are the riverbank wilds, the ones we pick from the banksides, this, this, this is the mud of my sticking and it sucks me down to my knees. These reeds smell a certain way and I can pop them, in sections, like eels.

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Surprise, Saturday! We had unexpected guests, and that was fun. Happy Saturday, poemfriends.

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