hummed of mystery...

hummed of mystery

"Once there were brook trout
in the streams in the mountains.
You could see them standing in the amber current
where the white edges of their fins
wimpled softly in the flow.
They smelled of moss in your hand.
Polished and muscular and torsional.
On their backs were vermiculate patterns
that were maps of the world in its becoming.
Maps and mazes.
Of a thing which could not be put back.
Not be made right again.
In the deep glens where they lived
all things were older than man
and they hummed of mystery."
- Cormac McCarthy