Compulsively Aimless

Bluebird Fish Dinner #3 The silver grey scales of the Whitefish I ate at the Bluebird Bar matched the color of the county road I drove since Cadillac leading up north through a sea of pines to rent a cabin at the end of a peninsula. The day before my fresh water fish swam beneath Lake Michigan white caps under hard blue aurora skies and popcorn clouds its shimmering scales dazzled the sun for a moment like the halo of a tilted Milky Way I would watch that night with a friend from Indiana The Whitefish is a cold water fish making me think maybe the glaciers that carved these shores and filed these lakes not so long ago would return like a neighborhood of angry fathers to restore their defaced work but not until I ate a few more summers of fish at the Bluebird Bar. Leland Panorama The green and grey Janice Sue is moored at her dock on display at Fishtown, There’s a yellow sea plane on the north lake skimming the water moments before lifting into the air. Nothing moves on the surfa...