, , , ,

 18 Fishing the point


He named it “The Point.”

It was obvious why,

he had done so.

He took me there one day,

and I was honored.

He never took anyone else,

to this glorious place.

I asked him why,

he did not fish,

from the other side,

of the steep run.

It looked like,

a much more,

comfortable spot,

to fish from.

He told me,

that he had,

wasted many hours,

of good fishing time,

attempting to reach there.

There were mountains to cross,

large lakes and rivers,

that blocked his way,

and that he would,

show me on,

another day.

And then he smiled,

that wry grin,

that told me,

he had found,

in those wasted hours,

even more,

special spots,

that he would share,

only when he,

was ready,

to do so.

His whole lifetime,

had been used up,

in these mountains,

and he was quite satisfied,

that he had wasted them,

in such an apparent,

frivolous manner.

He was a man,

who was quite,

comfortable with,

his existence.

© Copy written for what I will never know.

Credit to DARVILLS