I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna
or on any river for that matter
to be perfectly honest.

Not in July or any month
have I had the pleasure — if it is a pleasure —
of fishing on the Susquehanna.

I am more likely to be found
in a quiet room like this one —
a painting of a woman on the wall,

a bowl of tangerines on the table —
trying to manufacture the sensation
of fishing on the Susquehanna.

There is little doubt
that others have been fishing
on the Susquehanna,

rowing upstream in a wooden boat,
sliding the oars under the water
then raising them to drip in the light.

But the nearest I have ever come to
fishing on the Susquehanna
was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia,

when I balanced a little egg of time
in front of a painting
in which that river curled around a bend

under a blue cloud-ruffled sky,
dense trees along the banks,
and a fellow with a red bandana

sitting in a small, green
flat-bottom boat
holding the thin whip of a pole.

That is something I am unlikely
ever to do, I remember
saying to myself and the person next to me.

Then I blinked and moved on
to other American scenes
of haystacks, water whitening over rocks,

even one of a brown hare
who seemed so wired with alertness
I imagined him springing right out of the frame. 
~Billy Collins Fishing On The Susquehanna In July

The difficulty to think at the end of day,
When the shapeless shadow covers the sun
And nothing is left except light on your fur—

….and August the most peaceful month.

To be, in the grass, in the peacefullest time,
And to feel that the light is a rabbit-light
In which everything is meant for you
And nothing need be explained;

You become a self that fills the four corners of
night.
~Wallace Stevens, from “A Rabbit As King of the Ghosts”

I live a quiet life in a quiet place.
There are many experiences not on my bucket list
that I’m simply content to just imagine others doing.

I’m not a rock climber or a zip liner
nor willing to jump out of an airplane.
I won’t ride a horse over a four foot jump
nor race one around a track.
Not for me waterskis or unicycles or motorcycles.

I’m grateful there are adventurers
who seek out the extremes of life
so the rest of us can admire their courage
and applaud their explorations.

My imagination is powerful enough,
thanks to the words and pictures of others –
sometimes too vivid.

I contentedly explore the corners
of my quiet places, both inside and outside,
to see what I can build from what’s here.

When the light is just right,
what I see in my mind
seems ready to spring right out of the frame.