The Fisherman

The rod is assembled, the flies attached, he chooses a stretch of river, lets the line out, waits, draws, pulls it in, casts again, the line ripples, something, wait, the line returns, the process is reported, the process is repeated, the fisherman casts again, the line is out, the eyes on the line, any movement, wait, a bite, something there, he will try that spot again, there is a fish waiting to be caught, so the fisherman dreams.

The bait, the fish can spot the disturbance overhead, wiggles about, goes to the surface, has a closer look, not real, the fish goes back to the bottom, waits until he is more secure and certain. Testing the Spirit, the fisherman is getting on, three hours, the waiting continues, another bite, the line snags and releases, the fish took the bait, but the way he took it, nibbled it, not into the mouth.

The fisherman, the evenings end, the light is fading, the water darkens, nearly time to go home, one last cast, the line on the water, more flies on the hatch, the fish getting ready for their midnight feast, this time. A rise to the left, before him up river down river, the plop, the plop, a jump, a splash, the fisherman looks about in wonder, so many fish to catch, he decides to leave and have a good night’s sleep, thinking, fishing, with the clean water, it’s always worth thinking about, amen.