He says to me “Fishing is fishing,”
an echo of an elder who once
told me: “Fishing isn’t catching.”
Eight-year-old wisdom;
Live the moment.
Cast expectations aside.
Accept uncertain reality.
Don’t squabble with failure.
Find the place where you’re at
and embrace it. Test the winds
to see if it is an uncertain tide.
Bravely stand to its
inexorable character
and learn to move on.
“Cold is cold,” another edict
coming from a Southern boy
who remembers we are in
Minnesota.
Acclimatization out the window.
Defiant he has already
come to terms with
conditions
on the ground.
“Same-same,” he would say;
Why quibble?
Motion stealing from other motion,
wheels churning with delight,
presence unaffected by unkind reality,
moving always into the light.
Broken hooks,
lost fish frayed from battle,
headstrong boat hitches
that won’t complete,
facing into the surly wind,
heady days on big lakes,
watchful of dangers
potential,
eager to win,
to catch the prize.
Collected experience,
enjoyed, all of it pieces
of a remarkable puzzle,
life on the go.
Hey, sad is sad.
Alone is alone.
Glad is glad.
Fear is fear.
Each has a place.
Each accepted
with a vote of
acclimation.
There is no “catching,”
just to fish going in
and coming out.
No cold, but what
thoughts we
bring to it.
From a new book I am contemplating: Sojourners of the Spirit (working title). What do you think? Any comments would be helpful / on FB or through f/b texting.