In the cool, blue-green woods I came upon trout lilies. I sat, then laid on the ground near them, slipping under the surface of the forest floor. The speckled fishskin leaves and slender watery flowers reminded me of days as a boy, following my brothers along the creek. Catching trout, the smell of wild mint, the taste of cold watercress, the sound of clear water. I lay there for a while, in that pool of thought, as the memories flowed on and on.