Earth Hour--Letter #25

Dear Governor Ducey,

I had to wait to write my letter to you until after my daughter reminded me I would help her write a sonnet and after my son sat on my lap to warm up because he's sick and he was cold and after the first birthday party and after the second and after I met some friends who also thought maybe the idea of Arizona was unsustainable but maybe they'll go rafting in the morning while there's still some water and then it was Earth Hour where you're supposed to turn the lights off for an hour and then I did and it was late so this is all I have to bring you today from this morning when my daughter said, "will you help me write a sonnet," and I tried.

Her sonnet:

Fly Fishing at Pine Creek

I’ve never been fly fishing before.
My dad keeps saying “No Talking,”
but my feet are so cold like walking
in twenty or more

feet of snow.
The fishing line continues
to get tangled in my shoes.
I guess we don’t know

what the fish see. The water
is evaporating into the air.
I can smell mud, grass, and lavender
as the day gets hotter.

I hear only the birds singing
and the sound of my fishing line flinging.

Mine is not as good but still is 14 lines. With some rhymes.

Flyfishing on the Fremont

They said the knots would be hard to tie.

They were. But that wasn’t the worst part.

Getting the fishing line out of my

hair or from the back of my shirt

made me think that maybe this knitting

project is not for me.

I take a stab at the flitting

fish. Easier to grab. by hand, it seems.

Specked fish. Speckled sunlight.

A bald eagle. Two Sandhill Cranes.

Eating goldfish crackers. Take a bite,

human. The fish themselves aren’t fans.

Still. Maybe that’s the point. Not baiting fish but baiting

time. Learning to love the wait if not the waiting.