Blaze

Walker Lake

47 WALKER LAKE The still place returned to reflection. Birch startled us with gold so loud our bodies flared like fireweed gone to seed. Twilight put its slant on the afternoon— four loons swam near our seaplane, nudging this strange relative who would not speak. The moon had eaten itself down to the rind, and in that sliver, that lingering of autumn, stars borrowed the voices of loons. The sow bear ripped down the boat tarp, scraped black fur into twisted wingnuts, that bear eased her itch and disappeared. And still she stayed near, while we hiked uphill to fill our jug, the spring covered over with autumn’s leavings. We skimmed clear frosted growth floating, sank our jerrycans, felt them pull deeper. The surface healed around wrists stiff with cold. Bubbles shook free from river weeds, rose up, tumbled downstream. ...