Fisherman's Pride
I catch myself roaming around our cottage by the bay this July--- the glare of sun toasting shells along the coast. My mind wanders on until nets are hauled by fishermen of our town, arms bronzed by summer’s tug and rowboats swelling with a day- long’s catch. On through dusk, moonlight gradually rises as elders welcome exhausted yet joyful trawlers with a serenade.
fragrance of heat wafts
on mariners’ parched bodies
reflecting noon’s toil
With delight, I await grandfather’s arrival along the dock. Knowing he loves the sea, we linger on the bank while I help him carry a weighed basket of trout, the prize of his quest . Quite nimble at sixty- eight, Gramp begins to tell me a litany of fables gathered from his water-world journeys—the sails through rainstorms and the different glories of dawnscape… orange in the moisture of bamboo shoots. I start to laugh quietly at his repeated tales knowing his memory slightly fails him now.
After mellow exchanges, my gaze lifts above, tracing eventide’s call by the path of new stars on the foreground. I revel at how we would stroll back home with laughter in our eyes, my own knees bending with his wobbled gait…the music of folks streaming.
as nightfall hushes--
guitar tunes ripple like waves
cooling blaze of night
Haibun Contest for Mick Talbot
7/3/2018
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