New Mexico Mercury

when lakes glisten with shallow ripples
and crows cry from distant pines,
echoing late summer
when the cicadas' clamor breaks afternoon calm
as autumn approaches
the fisherman stands along the shoreline waiting
sentinel-like, dressed in khaki pants and shirt
sunglasses and broad-rimmed brown hat
he contemplates the moment, then another in simple succession
while fish dart under glassy water avoiding the bait 
the fisherman watches white billowy clouds form in the East
and seems content to follow moving shadows along
the mirrored surface of the lake
ripples shift gently at the whim of breezes
smells of Ponderosa Pine remind me of
what it means to fish in lakes that go nowhere
from moment to moment to moment
thunder clouds and lightning  break the silence
upheaval of torrential rain along the
smooth surface of lake now dotted with
millions of tiny rain drops
but the fisherman doesn't move from his spot
he casts his rod into uneven swirls of murky water
one last chance to find his catch before lightning strikes again
before he must return to the other side of the mountain.