Baitless Fisherman

 

It fills every crevice, but life thrives in even the most dangerous places.  Swirling like paint, but I suppose it’s all a natural color life craves.  I wish I were a fisherman right now.  Never catching a soul (sole) but just sitting.  Not even watching for a bite-enjoying my sit by life.  Reel in, cast out-like the swirling and tidal wisps of mist.  Deglorify the law and structures, wealth and become a fisherman who sits.  Like me.

Oh!  Did you see that one?!  I swear I would shout it out at my highest, deepest voice but the waves that spiral don’t care.  An apathetic kind are those sea-foaming, sea-faring few.  Few like me.  A fisherman.  Oh, now there is no Sun . . . if I leave, I can make a horizon form in my wits like the reality I see.  I have no fish in my hands and only clean hooks in my pocket (ouch).  But I am smiling and the waves are stern but in love with me.  I am in love with the waves.  Here I go.  Tomorrow I will come back to the bluff and sit-not waiting-not hoping-my sitting will more than appropriately suffice.  I am a fisherman.  My pole is old, but my hooks are clean.  Why sit and cast all my day without a purpose to catch?  I have no purpose without my pole to cast and reel or cast again.  The gull, again, claws in air that laughs.  Or is that me?  Remember that I am smiling, too.  I always get us confused.  So, as I said before, I will return with no bait and my pole tomorrow to cast and laugh with the stern waves that love me.

 

15 May 2004

Scotty’s Bluff