Halfway North

If you can get past the pictures of

men holding fish men in the bathroom mirror men shirtless in bed with their dogs men lifting weights in gyms men with guns men with cheap bottles of beer men with Maga Hats men in their cars men on motorcycles men on barstools men making kissy faces men in cheap hotel rooms men on boats men with women whose faces are scribbled out black

and if you can weed out the

men who “just want” to “treat you like a lady” who don’t want to see “pronouns” who are “tired of games” who don’t want your “baggage” who want a “partner in crime” who want to “do life together” who say “chivalry is not dead” who “don’t want any libtards” who suggest you “get mental health help if you are wearing a mask”

well if you can get through all that

and find photos of

a bookcase, a paddle board, a mushroom foraged for dinner, a river at dawn, the northern lights, a mountain bike trail, a rescue dog

you might make it

to trivia night, to a trail ride, to a film festival, to a live band in a dive bar, to a record shop, to Romeo and Juliet under the stars, to a breakfast cafe where the ceiling is bursting with flowers

Even though and even if one by one they fade –

they shine and wink out or blaze out or just go dim, or maybe flicker like a lightning bug on the periphery, waiting to re-land –

finally you will awaken gloriously alone again and

you’ll find

the unopened bottle of scotch, the hoodie with the bike logo, your new fly rod, a new security camera for your back door;

you’ve acquired all of these, given or bought in anticipation, earned them like scout badges.

So stand, then,

stand in the river this evening, stand against the current pushing you,your feet planted on a rock –

toss back the glass of scotch

and twirl the fly overhead,

once, twice, three times, circling it above the wind in your hair, against the deep blue sky weighted in place with cumulus clouds, with fall coming on though the light still hangs late in the sky –

and just let go,

holding on to that moment where the fly is ever-sailing

toward the river’s surface

ever-gliding

ever-falling

ever-free.