Once hitchhiking outside of Anchorage
I stopped beside a pond
not large but lovely
calm and pristine
as any I have known
it was in May
and I remember sunlight flashing
off the wings of a lone tern
that swooped and dove
and suddenly out of the stillness
heard the crack
of a beaver's tail slapping the water
a sound so sharp and clear it woke me
from my revery
as if I'd just been slapped
lightly across the face
it was perhaps the first
though not the only time
that I've been rudely shaken
from my dream
and if only for a moment
seen the world made new