| Author | Message | ||
| M
Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3320 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention The Fly Fisherman Anastacia Donovan he approaches the water, in a hushed, numinous sanctuary, lone shaman offering his spirit for ritual combat with the sleek and wily denizens. like spider silk a silver filament flash-dazzles into the air. a soundless prayer cast out over the flow; then in graceful arcs the line, obedient to his studied command begins a dance from wrist and hand. slowly and fluidly all of his feelings beads out along the line in glinting droplets until he is empty; he becomes the rod, reel, line, fish, and too, the river. hours pass in tranquil contemplation with only the sporadic swish of rod; to punctuate the mystic quiet. all the world mimics the drift passing the fisherman to leave him undisturbed standing unmoved moses at the parting. towards evening he wades to shore; the creel holds trout on a bed of cool damp moss. he handles them tenderly, respectfully thanking each one for giving its life to bring him peace and sustenance. |
