Here's the halfway point in my November challenge of 30 poems in 30 days. This one is by request--an old friend of mine suggested that I write about fishing. She and I grew up going to Lake of the Woods in Ontario, Canada for summer vacations. I was able to visit there again this past summer, and it was a very bittersweet thing to have to leave this time around. The distance is so far from Arizona that I'm not sure when I'll be back again.
Trolling the Shoreline In
Just once more around the island.
At trolling speed, please.
Let me watch the sunset tinted wake
rippling outward from the boat,
and smell the pine scented dusk.
I want to hold the rod against the drag
one more time, tip gently curved,
line pointing back the way we came.
My practiced hands are waiting
for a tell-tale tug...
But I don't care if I catch anything more.
I just want to breath in the beauty.
There is a seagull keeping pace overhead,
its crisp white wings cutting the chilling air.
A line of stately pelicans
drifts majestically by,
ready to settle in for the night.
And now we're gliding around the last turn.
I can see the liquid golden reflections
from the camp's lights
reaching for me across the glassy waters,
beckoning me to come back
to safety and shore.
...ok. It is time.
Point the boat toward the dock
and bring me in.
I'll leave my lifeblood waters.
But I'll be back.
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