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Along the Salmon River
by Michael Escoubas

It is late summer
hints of autumn's perfume
scent the air:
pinesap drips its yellow ooze,
leaves begin their orange burn,
applewood smoke drifts
down the draw from town.
I roll my jeans up past
my knees, step into the icy
stream. I feel the bubbly rush
of Chinook, Sawtooth and Kokanee
their opalescent bodies shimmer
in sunlight. I lose all sense
of myself. I'm a twig
among purple mountains
the mountains wrap themselves
in chiffon clouds. I feel my
face planted among bare
bosoms of hills. The river
lives out its name singing its
ancient memorized symphony.



 

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