The tide washes, neverending, over rocky shores.
The sun rises without fail.
And again and again, the salmon knows
to swim against the current of fast flowing streams.
The effort to swim must be maddening,
So inconvenient that evolution has happened this way,
So senseless that they must struggle,
Red scales in blue water.
Or maybe, it is exhilarating,
To break from the current, and clear the rapids.
Maybe each failure is a chance to soar through the air again,
And see for a moment another shade of blue,
That of the sky.
Do salmon carry heavy fear?
Do they know that failure to breach the flow of the stream means death? Maybe instinct carries them to that final body of water better than any fickle feelings would. Maybe instinct is bred from the fear of the strong.
Maybe instinct whispers keep going with each jump.
There must be something better to reach for,
Somewhere over the thrashing white water, against the current.
So perhaps, salmon hope.
Perhaps they know, as they swim with each other,
That they must continue if they want to see something great,
Something wonderful.
To keep throwing yourself against the current, against gravity, is some feat. To persist at all is some miracle.
Whatever drives the salmon every year when the days grow short, drives them well.
The salmon keeps on swimming against rushing currents by the grace of its own being, And dreams of calm waters for delicate eggs. And jumps
Again
And again
And again
And then once more, one last time.
Catherine Wan is a junior at Harriton High School.
