Waiting

My wife, a wonderful woman, asks me every day,

“Why don’t you go fishing? There’s a river right outside the door.”

And I shrug and mutter, “I’m waiting”.

She shrugs back, gives me a pitying look, and then goes fishing

In the river outside,

Right outside the door.

She loves to fish with bobber and worm.

She doesn’t mind getting worm gunk

All over her fingers. She cuts the worms with scissors.

And slides the sharp point into the

Severed portion while it flops around frantically.

Then she throws a cast out onto the water.

Bobber and splitshot and hook and worm flying,

Then splashing down.

And the current takes the bobber and pulls it along.

Pretty soon she reels in, and casts again.

She’ll keep this up for hours

Catching fish every few casts.

She stands the whole time,

Under the tree by the bank, in the river outside

Right outside the door.

I’d sit in a chair if it was me.

But it’s not me. Because I’m waiting.

I’m waiting for the river to go down.

For it to go down to where I can wade.

And cast the long cast, the long graceful cast

Of the fly rod.

Beautiful, LLoyd. Thank you for that.
I can relate. 3 times the creek has flooded. 3 times the creek has gone down to a wadable/paddleable level.
Maybe this time it will stay.
At the moment, I don't care. I'm going to a lake, where I can paddle and fish to my heart's content.

Kirk

Thank you!