Aug
16th
Thu
16th
Lake 7
Alls quiet
Not a breath stirs
Where the woods meet the water
In search of some
Perch
Or
Bass
Or pike
Lurking in the logs near the shore
The cast
And ripples spread
Across the clam water
Marring the reflection of overhanging trees
Reel slowly
No rush
Soaking in the colors
The smell of woods and lake
The sound of restless cattails
A heron fishes patiently next to me
He has more luck
A bite in the air
A rim of orange and gold on leaves
Says fall is near
Soon my private spot will be
Filled with honking and flapping
As migrants head South
Away from the cruel snows of winter
To greener pastures
And warmer waters than these
My lure makes it back
Unmolested
Unremarked
Perhaps no one is home
Perhaps no one is hungry just now
