Of Truth and Flies (or, When the Wife’s away…)
A still, clear November morning.
The lochan ringed with golden trees
Reflected in the mirrored pool
Give warmth and light more than
The shallow incident rays of autumn sun.
A line unfurls, reaching out over the waters
Settling gently, kissing the reflecting interface
Between cold clear water, and crisp clean air.
There presents the ‘lie’ – a sharp, curled, barbless abdomen
Dressed red body and ruff – dips into the water
Dark hairs clinging to the tension of the surface.
A piscine mind – always hungry, always eating
Always looking for an opportunity to feed – sees food…
And voraciously takes the lie – creasing water, twitching leader
In expectant moment arm muscles tighten
Rod tip lifted high, bows towards an unseen opponent
Strike! – it’s on – battle commences.
A smile broadens.
The line once lazily resting on the pool
Now taut describes a vector between two worlds
One of water and one of earth.
Racing – tugging – pulling – snatched to and fro…
Adrenaline flows… arm wearies… smile remains
The vector shortens, and at times lengthens
As the war of will plays out
But inexorably the line taken is more than is given out
Drawing fish and fisherman to waters edge
Soon, all too soon, man and fish are eye to eye
Surrendered to an encounter with each other
What will the final outcome be?
Warm hand reaches out and gently removes the lie
From the cold blooded lip
Once a prisoner, now released, set free
Leviathan flicks a tail – returns to the depths.
Until next time.
Resting on damp knees, the smile remains
Present at this blue pool, ringed with gold
Thankfulness flows for this place, this time, this moment
And the warm light of a clear, still November morning.
Andrew Gregg (4th November 2013)
