For Tess

Out on the Strait the water is whitecapping

as they say here. It's rough, and I'm glad

I'm not out there. Glad I fished all day

on Morse Creek, casting a red Daredevil back

and forth. I didn't catch anything. No bites

even, not one. But it was okay. It was fine!

I carried your dad's pocketknife and was followed

for a while by a dog its owner called "Dixie."

At times I felt so happy I had to quit

fishing. Once I lay on the bank with my eyes closed,

listening to the sound the water made,

and to the wind in the tops of the trees. The same wind

that blows out on the Strait, but a different wind, too.

For a while I even let myself imagine I had died-

and that was all right, at least for a couple

of minutes, until it really sank in: Dead.

As I was lying there with my eyes closed,

just after I'd imagined what it might be like

if in fact I never got up again, I thought of you.

I opened my eyes then and got right up

and went back to being happy again.

I'm grateful to you, you see. I wanted to tell you.