I wish everyone a happy new year filled with
peace, love and perseverance.
I am starting the new year here with an older
poem & a snapshot of one of my favorite places.
The Missouri River in view, I am standing at
the top of the hill on my grandparent’s farm;
near the Santee Sioux Reservation.
There is a tributary I have chosen to call Indian
Creek, which feeds into the Missouri, where I like
to do one of my favorite things:
And, for me, this poem is simply about the
happiness found while fly fishing. The “arc
of line” is like a moment of meditation. There is
no parallel to anything in my life or anyone else’s life.
There is only this purely pleasurable moment when the line is circling in air.
For a normally Type A person, like me, fly fishing is both an artful & refreshing diversion.
Now onto the poem & a New Year…
White Feather Trail descends rock-ribbed mountain
Indian Creek sleeps thin in her valley
Dragon tongues shape leafy ferns underfoot
Leading me to her glistening bounty
Cool waters awaken discovery
My feet in rubber boots sink into her
Eyes searching gentle currents for treasure
Fly tied, my line artfully circles air
Rod whipping and bending the line to arc
I release myself in each graceful cast
Slowly submerging into her water
nimph bait awaits hoping the fish will pass
The line tugs hard as a salmon breaks free
As this creek becomes an endless brown sea
And my line once again lasso’s in air
My heart in each cast, I haven’t a care
For to never catch a fish would be fine
Like poetry, I live for arc of line
poem (c) 2016 s l Jennings
Post note: in a moment of artistic liberty,
I called the hills in the picture “mountains”
because that’s what the hike there is like ;}