The Dance of the Columbia

By Jeffrey A. Kee

The estuary surged and pulsed with life, a natural rave.
Like an enlarged muted Phalarope it spun circles dredging life to the surface.

The gulls and pelicans and murres flew and bobbed around the choppy watery stage,
Picking up the little silver slivers of baitfish lightly streaking the surface.

Mammals drawn to the feast slid over and under.
Man and animal searching for salmon sustenance and spirit

A thousand boats rocked, enticing with flashers and fish,
As the sea lion ripped the belly of a lone Chinook.

Coho, cutthroat and King danced amid the forces,
Pushing, pulling, slipping and sliding.

Pushed by the river pulled by the tide,
The fish changed partners called out by the moon.

The hum of the motors and bang of the hull couldn’t interrupt the partners.
The gala of the year for many ending in August.

Baitfish flashed like a mirrored ball around the dancers.
The pulse of the players less synchronized at ebb and slack.

Forces of the natural swinging for survival,
Same players, same partners, same ancient steps.