Tucked away in the Watershed of the Clark Fork,
Playful cedars resemble illustrations from the pages of Dr. Seuss,
Needles clustered in tassels,
The wind twirling their skirts.
Tools sprawled widely through the reed canary grass,
With the white peaks of the Cabinet Mountains overhead,
The alder tugging at our clothes,
Our packs decorated with the flutters of the butterflies.
A forest with such personality,
The curves of the tree trunks create a village of characters,
And perhaps we ourselves are immersed in this animation,
Meandering through the fencing rounds.
The swoon of a harmonica beckons us to break,
And we flock to the shelter of the mighty cedar trees,
Where we feast from tupperware beneath their bows,
Listening to the Bull River's gentle serenade.
We wander where the mountain lions play,
Smiling in awe where the white pines meet the cedars,
And the larches lay to rest,
Beneath this ever evolving and caricature canopy.
As we pull the waders from our tired feet,
We bid goodnight to the deer that cross our path each morning,
With flagging streaming from our pockets,
To celebrate the day's hard work and a deed well done.