Once More

I contemplate the bobber on the water. It is as still as a friend’s prayer at meeting. Connected to this moment by monofilament I sit as if I were asleep. A gust of north wind roils the surface into ridges. In the furrow the bobber dances, dances, dropping its seed into the darkness perhaps to lure forth one more wish, one more harvest from the mystery before I lose the day’s last light. As suddenly as the wind came upon me it dies. Placidity prevails, a perfect crust of ice on new fallen snow at dawn untouched by even an insect’s wing. The bobber is still again as still as prayer again Retrieve. . . retrieve . . . a small voice urges me, unfed need dueling with sense, to cast again, to cast again. but I am wearier than I thought and it is accident time, accident time. The uncast line is better, much better. There is something hungry in the water.