Baitless Fisherman

It fills every crevice, but life thrives in even the most dangerous places.� Swirling like paint, but I suppose it�s all a natural color life craves.� I wish I were a fisherman right now.� Never catching a soul (sole) but just sitting.� Not even watching for a bite-enjoying my sit by life.� Reel in, cast out-like the swirling and tidal wisps of mist.� Deglorify the law and structures, wealth and become a fisherman who sits.� Like me.

Oh!� Did you see that one?! �I swear I would shout it out at my highest, deepest voice but the waves that spiral don�t care.� An apathetic kind are those sea-foaming, sea-faring few.� Few like me.� A fisherman.� Oh, now there is no Sun . . . if I leave, I can make a horizon form in my wits like the reality I see.� I have no fish in my hands and only clean hooks in my pocket (ouch).� But I am smiling and the waves are stern but in love with me.� I am in love with the waves.� Here I go.� Tomorrow I will come back to the bluff and sit-not waiting-not hoping-my sitting will more than appropriately suffice.� I am a fisherman.� My pole is old, but my hooks are clean.� Why sit and cast all my day without a purpose to catch?� I have no purpose without my pole to cast and reel or cast again.� The gull, again, claws in air that laughs.� Or is that me?� Remember that I am smiling, too.� I always get us confused.� So, as I said before, I will return with no bait and my pole tomorrow to cast and laugh with the stern waves that love me.

15 May 2004

Scotty�s Bluff