Saturday, August 15, 2009
....it must have happened somewhat longer ago.
The trees were finished and harvest was near.
I suppose it might occur every year,
but the sky gets darker much sooner this day
and warm morning air has faded away.
The birds are still singing and catching a breeze
and hot afternoons are, yet, summer tease.
The lawn has grown thick, the berries are red,
there's mud on my boots and fish in my head.
The Coho was calling. I had one simple wish
at a creek in the city we live there are fish.
I walked down the path where hook can fly loose
when, laying beside the trod path, a bull moose.
Better than forty-eight inch paddle spread,
he looked at me once then layed down his head.
Hooked a fine silver with yarn and some beads
then drifted 'til daylight was over the weeds.
Decided to leave and take home my score
when I thought of a lake I had fished at before.
Approaching the lake, there was hardly a sound
'cept for splashes of water from fish jumping around.
The lake trail was empty with no one about.
First a ten, then a four, then a sixteen inch trout!
Heading straight home with my body warming
I knew only one thing could top this fine morning.
If I had taken my camera to capture this dish.....
now it's only become another story of fish.