Just a few words, just a few hours on a salt pond

You start here, west of the gut, heading for a low sun.

Things change in a flash. For the better. Fish retreat from the shallows.

Some things start to stir, some. Swirls appear. Wings flap. Still the air is still.

So you round the corner, more to the east, more to all that God created and pause.

So little is moving, it’s hard to believe the pond is so alive.

Colors abound.

Then everything starts to open. Everything is ready to be new again.

If you are fortunate, you might share such a blossoming with an old friend.

The hunt starts, fish swirl, feed, dart, run, hide, fool, elude, disappear.

Before most had put on the coffee, some came to the fly,

and to the lure.

 

Both fish and fisherman were set free.