When the skeletal branches of winter trees begin to bud,
their leaves thrumming beneath the bark,
the salmon leave their home to explore.
What awaits them in the deep blue waters of the ocean?
What do they feel as they fly away from those familiar pools and streams?
What unknowable feeling in their fins
in their scales
in their hearts
tells them it is time to leave home?
Asks them to leave behind those corridors lined with well-worn pebbles
in search of something more?
Do they know they are bound by fate
to thrash through the whitewater
to be plucked
ripe and red
from those icy creeks
by hungry bears and swift eagles
on the way to frenzied death in the pools of home?
Do they leave home with no intention of returning?
Or do they leave because they feel
the very act of leaving
makes coming home finally feel real?