Driving west along the Klamath highway
on this first day of April
through a corridor of pine and cedar
stands of oak, madrone and willow
that flank the river
sometimes flowing calmly
sometimes breaking free
exploding in a squall of whitewater

Along the road my eyes are taken in
with redbud now in the first blush
of its new blossoms
and with the maples shrouded
in clouds of leaves just starting to unfold
the soft green foliage practically translucent
in the morning sunlight

Passing Ishi Pishi falls my mind turns back
to the old Karuk tales
how sly Coyote
fooled the yellowjacket sisters
stealing their fire
leaving them forever angry but in recompense
more striking in their brightly banded robes

Later on a beach beside the river
my elderberry flute called up a song
who knows from where
perhaps some Karuk ancestor
whose voice still hovers
seeking to be heard