He stands tall
Knee-deep in the clean, cool
water
The pole, an extension of
his arm
Beckoning the line forward
to far side of the river.
Wiry green willows grow in
abundance on the sandy shore,
Providing shade for an
unsuspecting Brook Trout.
In this tranquil moment
nature welcomes him into her embrace;
He is one with the slimy
rocks beneath his boots
He is one with the ghostly
clouds streaking across the sky
He is one with the busy
insects buzzing in the brush
There is no sense of self,
no ego, only oneness
As he casts his hope across
the rippling water
by C.R. Drew
Words In Motion 2014
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