Fit

Up the Kolob Terrace Road,
In the latter days of heat,
The kayaks in the pickups

Gather at the reservoir,
Along with silvered rowboats
And colorful paddle boards.

Launching from the exposed shore,
Gone from weeds to mud to sand
As the summer drought’s progressed,

The water toys look happy
To be out where they belong,
And they circle in the waves

As if they were made for this,
As if their purpose were here,
And yes, they were, and it is.