Sunday Morning

Early in the morn

we drove down the dirt road

past rows of unripe wheat

and the barn of a wealthy farmer.

From behind the jagged mountain range She emerged,

bringing life to the sleepy plains.

We settled down on a narrow path

and let the lines fly

"They won't be biting; they're spawning, 'tis spring!"

Ducks skimmed across the glistening water

and carp launched from the depths

whilst wrinkled eyes watched.

I inhaled the dust from a broken dictionary

nigh a dam.