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104 CHaTanIKa High, the Chatanika, high this year, surges the flats, soaks the valley. Chatanika spreads wide where gravel braids. where banks snug close, where rock, earth, and root gang up, high water scours, carves, its own image changeable. Chatanika, in pools deep green, in eddies steeped tea, freezes and thaws, makes its way on, full of grayling flashing like thoughts among the millions of mirrors at minto. What brought me exactly here? Is my flowing through the world a fit gift? Have I nourished more roots than I undercut? ...

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