Salmon on a Wednesday

Cheeze-it’s, hard lemonade, salty river,
Giggles and goats, chartreuse lures,
white cranes, sunny blue sky.
Big fisherman in little boats,
Grandpa holding tight even though he might fall,
peeing in a bucket that cuts into your thigh,
numbered buoys as we pass by.
Big nets, small flags,
cool wind on our faces as we accelerate.
Forest as far as we can see,
shades of yellow, orange and red as our summer
fades away, up the river on a Wednesday.
Smell of wood stoves
fishy perfume, trees and boat fumes.
A day spent without a watch.
Only family and memories in the making.
“A smell not many will experience,”
one of the last lumber mills around.
Smells like lumber, only not,
as a logging truck climbs the mountain.
Trolling motor vibrating in twelve feet of water.
Fishing for salmon, Chinook to be exact
yet, catching them won’t measure the worth of this day.