The Old Fisherman

As the sun was rising, with bamboo pole in hand, the old man walked slowly, quietly down to the weather worn dock still glistening with the morning dew among the cattails and reeds at the lake’s edge. Stepping onto the warped creaking planks the May flies flitting about he made his way to the end where his sagging canvas seat and tin pale awaited his arrival. It was a still glass-like water reflecting the pink and orange hues of the morning as he settled on his familiar perch.

Breathing in the fresh scents of the up North air he watched his surroundings awaken as life began to stir. First the sounds of wrens and frogs, then a small flock of gulls all facing the east as if they might worship the sunrise began to squeal and search for breakfast. A low flying Blue Heron headed to it’s usual feeding spot near the Rocky pier. He knew it would soon be the time when the larger fish would be moving closer to find the newly hatched fish flies near the shore.

It was time to ‘go fishing’ as he carefully unraveled the line on the long tapered bamboo shaft, the homemade cork bobber already set for the depth, he dropped the weighted hook into the water and laid the pole across his lap. Careful not to disturb the surface with too much movement he watched the floating cork ball for signs of a curious fish.

Time had passed slowly, almost to a stand still when a dragonfly came to visit, landing on the tip of pole to warm it’s jewel-like wings in the sunlight. The dragonflies had emerged from the long rest below the surface like little angels rising up to heaven.
And now one had come to bless the old man’s day.

He had dozed off and slept for a while and dreamed of a time when he was a child and was taught how to fish by his grandfather. When he awoke the hot sun was at high noon and it was time to pull in the line and head for home. As he stood up and looked down at the empty tin bucket he smiled and thought to himself, ‘I caught my limit for today’…’not too many fish, but a whole bunch of life’.