It is time to talk fishing. The winter is behind me, as mellow as it was, the clouds and the darkness got to me all the same. This is the time of the year when I look forward to the sun and adventures. This is when I start to think about my water. The salt waters off Long Island. I want out. I want to feel the rays.
A few family obligations including that bunny and after that it’s time to set some hooks. I almost want to use the bunny as bait but I know that’s not such a good idea.
So I wait.
But in the back of my mind I hear “Bunker chunk” and it echoes.
BUNKA, bunker, BUNKA, bunker. BUNKA.
I can see the rusty hooks, the blood and the seesawing horizon.
With Summer just around the block I wait on the warmth.
I organize the tackle box, sharpen the hooks, and bite lead weights onto line.
All of winters darkness comes out in the cut , the bite, the pursuit.
It’s time to catch the shadows of winter, find clear water and watch it turn from cold to hot.
It’s time to fish, to feel the tide, write and sink my feet into sand. It’s time to stand at the Equilibrium Point shouting.