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by Cindy Buchanan
Lake Stuart, Washington
Evening light turned pine trees gold
and the surface of the lake
shivered with a million tiny ripples.
A glacial breeze flowed across the water,
carrying the scent of resin and woodsmoke.
We could hear wet, intermittent plops—
the sound of fish darting up to catch
a fly or mosquito or gnat.
"The fish are rising," someone said.
And I had a sudden vision of countless fish
awakened from a deep slumber,
stirring, rising, moving as one,
their smooth, scaled bodies
thrusting and darting,
mouths opening and closing,
fins and tails straining to propel them
up and up:
a mass of life rising to leap
one by one into the evening sky
where, freed from their watery daybed,
their translucent eyes and silver scales
became the stars overhead.