Together we walk out of the woods at dusk,

barely able to make out the fern-lined trail,

tripping our way over roots and fallen branches.

From the trees’ dark depths, thrush flutesongs

and the last wild warbles of the winter wren,

river’s roar a back chorus. Fireflies blink

in the tangle on both sides of the dirt road,

fairy lights to guide our way. You, triumphant

with the success of having landed several salmon;

I, from having borne witness. Summer’s first

waxing moon rises over our heads. Back

at our cabin, tree frogs trill their songs of love,

and the shadows of geese glide past offshore,

five goslings peeping softly between parents.

A loon calls to its mate, mountain’s echo answers.

With only two little beds, we must sleep apart,

but all night I dream of you, in this place,

and wake happy to sun and the misty lake

out the window, knowing another day

of fishing lies before you, another glorious day.

Kristen Lindquist lives in Camden and works with the Coastal Mountains Land Trust.