In recent days, he’s taken to fishing – sitting at the edge for a few hours – fishing in the river of beauty that flows through the sagebrush flats surrounding his home. At first, his luck was good. He caught rabbit, cloud and mountain. For bait, rabbit, of course came to carrots. Cloud was attracted by desire – not surprising, as both like to hide vastness. Constant looking caught mountain or perhaps it was love. There were also nibbles from the unseen.
When he reeled in rabbit, close enough to touch his softness, he couldn’t see beyond the fearful eyes. Not knowing it could be good to be caught, rabbit bolted. As cloud was drawn in, she stayed overhead day and night through three otherwise cloudless days but ultimately she became impossibly thin and disappeared. He didn’t get to feel her touch either. Mountain, so ancient he could not be moved, had to be let go. These were disappointing results as nothing was landed. Perhaps he didn’t belong at the river or maybe he shouldn’t be fishing. But still he sat. And the nibbling continued. Then came a strike – a big one. He leaned back, ready for the battle but something was wrong, the pull was too strong and was coming from an unexpected direction. He tried to cut the line but couldn’t. Now, it was he who was being reeled in, bent, bent down until finally his head touched the dusty ground – bent, held… and then released.
Released! Rather, he wished her hook were barbed, that she kept her catch, devoured everything, even the bones. But it seems that is not her way, at least not with small fish, so he was returned to the river. But now, for a while at least, he’s in the river, not sitting at its edge. Maybe this is the bath he’s needed, and soon perhaps, after being cleaned up a bit by the river’s gentle waves of luminous silence, he’ll get caught again – and with luck, even end up in her creel.