The nose of a cutthroat trout

I just want to fill myself up with the reflections of clouds in still mountain lakes, memorize the sound of a dragonfly breaking the evening stillness, count the rings moving out from the nose of a cutthroat trout. The light changes everything. No two seconds illuminate the same vista. It’s always made new. My feet stand on this shore, my soul is anchored at the bottom of this place, casting hooks into the sky.