“It’s never too early
for the fish to bite.”
With that bit of philosophy,
he had pecked my cheek,
gathered up pole and tackle box,
and headed into gray dawn
to the far end of the dock.
I am content to remain
on the cabin porch,
warm mug in hand,
sipping coffee
and gazing out
where he now sits, pole in hand,
so intent he is motionless.
Maybe he, too, is thinking
of his upcoming surgery.
Minor, they say,
“They” who will not experience
the incision.
That’s why we came here –
to enjoy time together,
do things that will be put on hold
until recovery is complete.
Absorbed,
I fail to notice the sunrise,
its reflection a blinding glare
on the rippling water.
Suddenly,
this man I am watching,
his pole, chair, and all,
are nothing more than silhouette –
black, paper thin.
Coffee splashes
as I abandon mug
hurry to check
if the fish are biting.
– Betty J Van Ochten
