Here's a poem I wrote today about this picture I took on the lower Gallatin Friday:

Emily Dickinson on the Gallatin

There's a certain Fly I use
On rivers--into March--
To imitate the several Moods--
Of water's tiny Hearts.

While the Sky turns--Gray to Blue,
This Season's perfect Tease
Will only work--when Robins swim
And Geese stand in the Trees.

As February's foil--it drifts
Against the melting Snow,
While April's Willows arch--Above
And Midges hatch--Below.

Its Feathers--turning in the Light
With Tinsel and Chenille--
Will match a Trout's mind--Word for Word--
If Words would make a Meal.

I tie it--in the morning Light--
With Threads made out of Moon
And fish it--till it's woven through--
The dappled Robes of Noon.