Abstract
Riverside Following the snow banks of Watauga River, I found a bluegill above the frozen waters: each of the hundred, tiny scales glazed into a separate sun, and made a momentary sky flash along the riverside. Surrounding the fish, a clumsy circle of tracks break and lead back into the scrape of empty brambles— so there was no ambush of berries, no mention of a hurry, nothing of interest or appetite after that initial glint of silver in a fin edging the water through a shudder of sudden bubbles. A busy morning it must have been to gather lightning in a slippery paw. —Phil Arnold 80 ...
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