Watching the fishermen:
the boys and their mother
catch 3 fish in one afternoon
within a space of 30 minutes
is enough to fill my heart.
I continue my walk,
a kayaker paddles his way in the river
another, older fisherman hides under a shade
and a fellow walker resting on a bench
while 3 ducks are inching their places on a concrete ground
I wave goodbye to a lone bird on top of electric wires.
I’m walking home.
The fish is delirious with fury
Struggling to free itself from the hook
The fisherman plays his line with frenzy.
Does he doubt that his pleasure
Is another one’s anguish?
When the bees chase the fisherman
The heart beats with agitation
Thoughts run faster than the feet
Breaking all obstacles.
A story good for another telling.
The easy part is the walking
with doves giving their silent
blessings, and you succumb
to distractions without complaints
islands of red and green bushes,
California poppies, yellow and orange
daisies dancing with the breeze.
You reach the river
greet a sitting fisherman watching
his line, from the corner of your eye
sees a white heron that suddenly flies
skimming the water, quickly you reach
for your cell phone to capture its flight.
Returning home a palm tree
fans the sidewalk, your shadow
playing with its leaves.
First day of winter solstice
rain stopped, morning fog descended,
lifting in the afternoon.
Walk with me to the river.
A fisherman waited patiently
the line and darkening sky.