Someday the river will be normal again.
Nothing holding it back not even Pelton.
Not even Lake Billy Chinook.
We are on our way for the last time.
Winter smells like October. Paulina's murder.
The crew danced in a circle. Whiskey. Tequila.
It was time to leave after loud discussions.
All about the river. Blue and green slipping.
The lines get tangled when I think of him straight.
Away it went when I was finishing. Fears. Doubts.
Then Fossil I hope we can squeeze that in.
Cottonwood Creek is next summer.
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