Rollin's Pond Aug 1982

Brad was talking about sustenance in the silent places.

The wind roars gently through the pines and the poplars
And down here, we glide over dead calm

No sound but the sprinkle of water from our paddles
And those several birds on shore
Warbling back and forth in friendly show of melody.

Schools of perch and baby bass shooting like darts
They shoot up to our lures
They stream under our canoe through the long green grass
Waving wild and luxuriant in the channel

Kami kazi perch attack our bait
And we hold up our catches, barely longer than the rapellas
We laugh and shake our heads

Sunnies fight our hooks like pike
And when we let them go
They slap the water with a smack
To emphasize their rainbowed vigor.

We peer over the canoe.
The sun has burned off the mist and we warm in it.
The sunfish are kissing the surface
And the lilies

It is a perspective
And not just a wildlife preserve
I can but bring back with me
The image of curling mist
And men like spirits fishing
On the water