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.