Lang Creek 

September shrouds a disc of cooling sun
Whose shadows tremble over pools and rills
Among them scarlet salmon end their run
A stream they knew, a stream that knows them still

These gravel bars, their resting place of fall
Were once the hatching channels of the spring
From here the silver fingerlings were called
These quiet pools forthwith abandoning

And with the call they swept out on the tide
To navigate the currents of the deep
Then home where all their ancestors have died
To spawn a generation and to sleep

And little does it matter to the stars
The price they paid in energy and time
For meaning lies within these gravel bars
Not in what’s gone but what remains behind

And now the clouds enfold the waning sun
And drops of rain refresh the thirsty stream
Sustaining generations yet to come
A gift to What-Will-Be from What-Has-Been

The cycle of the salmon is of birth
The current turns adrift with coloured leaves
It’s not for all my yesterdays on earth
It is for my tomorrows that I grieve

Gerald Scholefield (2018)