I look up and see
a majestic eagle perch
on a lush hemlock tree,
And a chilly breeze brushes past me,
And beyond I hear
a tall cottonwood dancing
to the sound of the wind.
I continue past,
at last,to a lake where I stop
to go fishing.
As I wait for the fish to bite,
in the dim light, I can just make out
a doe hesitantly making its way
through the woods,
and gracefully dips her muzzle into
the silent water,
This may not sound like real life,
like an imagined paradise,
but no,
This is my home,
This is Fidalgo Island.
April Davis
