I remember
the bighorn sheep
at the river’s edge
while the raft
glided by
not ten feet
from shore.
There were,
maybe,
two dozen.
Half drank.
Half kept an eye
on us.
This spot
they came
to drink their fill
placed the mountain
directly between them
and the road
the terrain
forced west
away from
the river.
I had
no camera
to preserve
one of these
precious
seconds.
I wished
I knew how
not to blink.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney
Umflop 