Impossible, in a creek no wider than a ladder laid north-to-south along the Divide, cutthroats
arch, tails beating to scatter droplets that carry within them minor worlds full-blown and
capacious. Pangaea started this simply, one turtle to another, mantle fires going dormant beneath
the green appetites of conifers...until today, when—some way north and well to the west—Mt.
Saint Helens upbraided the sky. A calamity that, from my remove, was a footnote, nothing more.
So too, to some, the failing and falling back of one or two trout in Idaho.