Whiskeytown Lake, CA

Around the bend, the pines fall back—
a sudden hush, a breath, a crack
of sunlight on the water’s face,
Whiskeytown in a silver trace.

The lake unfurls like poured-out glass,
soft blue framed by golden grass,
and for a blink, the world tilts right,
left-hand beauty, burning bright.

Tires hum, but I slow to see
how wild the still can truly be.