Great Regulars: But it's the deep pleasure of going slow,

of feeling the water on my skin, of the way it feels velvety as I push through it, for no particular goal, just to keep afloat from our dock to Cherry Point and back. I'm thinking about a poem I found in the July/August issue of Poetry magazine. It's about fishing, but it's the same principle:

[by Kathryn Starbuck]

Trout

from Fleda Brown: Traverse City Record-Eagle: On Poetry: Slow season lets 'Trout' fly

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