Paint & Poetry: Fall 2025

Fishing for Native Cutthroats
by Fran Lunney

For weeks, I fished for stocked trout in town
in a stream overrun by subdivisions.
The rainbows that I caught were lifeless
in the summer heat. Their eyes, grey and dull
as I released them.

I drove a hundred miles of gravel roads
to find a cold mountain stream hidden in a grassy meadow.
With each cast, golden colored trout rose to the surface
to feed on the small grasshoppers that I collected
in the (cool) morning grass. Yellow sides flashed
in the deep green pools. The first trout of the morning
was no longer than my outstretched hand,
but it was brilliantly red along its sides, and wild.

Winds of Change
by Tom Leuprecht

Colorcast leaflets of light drifting by
Offset by a bluebird big sky
Leaves fall like a Plinko game
Hitting branches none quite the same
With a thud of sound slapping tin
Getting stuck on roof; no win
Trees go bare, light fades the days
Snowline comes, goes, then stays