the wind ripples the water in ways that make it resemble the mountains that surround it.
the peak’s shadows overhang the low valleys we fish in.
across the lake, green shrubbery hides the lurking moose, moving silently til he nears our ears.
we are in his land, his home.
we are merely invaders to the beast, invaders that admire his menacing long body and short stubbed antlers.
he swims and spectates us fishers.
effortlessly, he moves the water that’s beneath him.
as he comes closer we are forced to leave, we are no match for this young bull.
we take our fish and are on our way in awe and in peace.


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