Fishing Trip

So much of it is in anticipation
An anxiousness that builds for weeks
over the lure of words
the perfect feathered phrase
Waking mornings, ready
more ready each day
and looking forward now
packing tackle boxes
testing lines of thought
Selection, always weighing
the strength of rod
against the hunted fish

Too much metaphor perhaps
but the pull is always there
Lazy times between these trips
and busy with the busyness
of other things
And then I've been away too long
from remembered ponds
and long slow casts
among the water lilies
Anticipation as the sun gets low
a catching of breath
in slow retrieves

I know it's time to fish again
laying a fly lightly, gently
natural as my skills allow
then watching the drift
Every sense awake and focused
for a time in this illusion
of natural life
And if I've patience and any skill at all
to do it lovingly enough
Ripples rise, tailing before the strike
and the moment stretches
far beyond these waters