FISHERMEN: # 14 PARADISE

Tags

contemplation, fishing, forest, Solitude, stream

 

 

Every day that I go fishing,

I open a new book,

of interesting facts.

Maybe not book facts,

but rather life facts,

such as:

The white stripe,

on the bottom,

of a brookies fins,

Or the little bird,

that built a nest,

in the groove of,

the streamside cliff.

Or the fearsome growl,

in the oak tree,

above my head,

that was mother raccoon,

insisting that I make distance,

between myself and,

her four baby ‘coons,

in the tree.

Or the deer family who come,

to the stream every morning,

and every evening,

for their drink,

of clean clear water.

Or the log which rests,

halfway in and halfway out,

of the water,

the part in the water,

as solid as it was,

before it fell,

the part out of the water,

getting punky from,

the insects who live in it,

and the rain that dampens,

their home.

And sometimes,

when not fishing,

I visit the stream,

in the winter,

where the hemlocks,

heavy with fresh snow,

hang low over the water,

where the falls have frozen,

into patterns unexpected,

yet expected because,

they always freeze,

in one pattern,

or another.

The woods are quiet now,

most everyone is asleep,

for the winter,

except for the squirrels,

both red and grey,

and the partridge,

bursting away,

from me – the intruder.

It pleases me to see,

no other footprints,

in the snow,

as this is my place,

for solitude,

and contemplation.

© Copy written for what I will never know.