Panning For Gold

Sunlight dancing we dip our pans,
silver flashing - scoop the gravel,
from the icy water,
twirl, squint, peer, repeat,
watch the granules tumble,
like children out of bed,
on Christmas morning.
<swissh>

Gritty thumb and forefinger,
flicking granite chips,
<plop>
a bit of garnet flashs,
quartz pearls nestled
in their sandy shell;
no nuggets yet,
black sand pasted in the crease.

No payday tonight,
no 2-step ladies,
hanging on our tales,
maybe next week,
...or the week after;
stretch my back,
swivel neck to ease the pain,
then back to dip again.

Klondike fever,
running deep,
we scour the gravel,
for one small glint,
To jump and holler,
"Gold!"
or even "Yeeha!", then
hug yer grizzled pardner.

who cares that it is
a plastic litter box,
and two pizza pans,
this afternoon
we ARE Skookum Jim
and Tagish Charlie,
and this IS The Klondike...

...with Fritos.

©1999

[teaching a 7 year old to
pan for gold - in the backyard]