The fisherman was standing beside the small, man-made lake. His line was in the water. I saw him standing still and alone on the shore, but I figured he was not alone…he was with the memories of his father. The young boy watching and learning and then finding himself a man, surrounded by the nuances of past times, carrying it forward.
I can remember my own silent and special, shared moments. The living warmth of the water’s edge, the sound of red-winged blackbirds, a cicada droning, the dragon fly flitting and then landing to survey the liquid, cloud reflecting surface, the smell of all the forms of life in all its stages and cycles. My father standing in patient intensity…his relaxed and peaceful concentration on the floating bobber that can signal contact with the unknown in the depths below the surface…the unrelenting surface beyond which we cannot see.
We seldom talked. Just being there together was good enough for us…the three of us…he and I and the river. The undercurrent of time has carried away any opportunities, now, for me to join him again on this side of the river. Maybe as I watch my line that sinks into the unseen depths, the depths that go below the surface of life, I will get a bite…just a little nibble…from the other side. But if not, that is ok. It is enough to know that on the other side of that surface, life goes on, and he is there, and I am patiently waiting, because being there together is what matters.
© Clyde Grauke
Bio: Clyde is a an artist, photographer, and writer. His art and photography has been published in Ascent Aspirations, Cella's Round Trip, Cezanne's Carrot, Eclecticism, Fickle Muses, and Sacramento Poetry, Art, and Music. His literary works have been published in American Review Lifestyle Journal, Bitterroot International Poetry Journal, Hoi Polloi, and Sacramento Poetry, Art, and Music. Copies of his books are available at isuu.com.