Sunday, March 10, 2013

Tying One On

As if tracing the fragile arcs of some dream,
the line found it way down the day to land in the stream.
Attached to it, the minutest of flies
tied carefully so as to disguise
itself as the tiniest of hatches,
just one of several matches
the fisherman would try today
in his own peculiar, festidious way.

Having waded out to the middle of the waters
in his rubber waders as old as Muddy Waters,
the fisherman played out his line,
a line so transluscent and fine.
He had high hopes on this trip out
that he would land a record trout.
But just being here, here in the hills
gave him the biggest of thrills.

The day had broken just an hour ago
and he had yet nothing to show.
Nothing to show for the art of fishing,
but that did not keep him from wishing
that his efforts would someday pay off
and that fellow fishermen their hats would doff
as they asked what he had tied on
to catch such a fish and the trophy he'd won.

But later that day he forgot all that,
waded over to shore and on a big rock sat
musing over his luck that had not been so bad.
He'd caught his limit and even through back one or two.
That this wonderful day was now over made him a bit sad
as he laid back in the early evening dew.
Having forgotten to eat, he was quite hungry
and, yes, really thirsty as well.

So he slipped on a clean dungaree
and walked towards the Ranger to tell
how his day had went and to show him his license
(that he even had to made no sense)
and let him look at his catch.
Yes, the hatch he had managed to match!
As it was, the Ranger was off duty
so they went to town for a beer

or two or three..

and told tall tales of fishing days gone by
of tieing and casting all manner of fly.

This he would do until that day he would die.

mindbringer, 9 March 2013