A Trout Story

A lazy bend in the river;
a deep pool, well shaded
by verdant alders overhead.
A flat boulder on the bank,
opens the curtain of willows.
Upon it the Old Dude stands vigil,
working, waiting.

The Old Veteran lies below,
watching, waiting.
Enticed by the fly
dancing just below the surface.
It is a game of patience,
of nerve;
who can outlast the other.

The Veteran faces upstream,
moving his form only enough
to hold his place in the current.
He is curious, but cautious;
something just isn’t right.
The offering seems good,
but he has seen it all before.

Age learns to wait;
all things will be revealed.
Youth seizes the moment;
sometimes at great cost.
The young trout snatches the fly,
beating the Old Veteran to it.
A last, terrible mistake.

This game is played
many times over.
Soon the creel is filled
with foolish young trout,
keeper-size; enough for supper.
Yet the Old Veteran
has not been tricked.

The Old Dude acknowledges the winner.
He leaves the pool
and hikes back to his camp.
Soon he will feast on his catch.
The Old Veteran feasts on the knowledge
that he has survived another day.
It is enough for him.