Or a two-shower day?
Had to muster out early for a quick reading, earlier than I’m used to. I was still dragging from travel, it’s not like a 20-minute flight can really induce jet-lag, but that’s my excuse. But I got after it, and after we wrapped the reading, I wandered off to drink coffee, fetch the mail, buy a little bait, and think about the mysteries of life.
Invariably, it’s the oddest of place that enlightenment occurs, like, for a brief, shining moment, under occasional clouds, sitting there, gnawing on a pork rib. Or swimming in the creek’s cold water. Just amazing, sometimes. Taurus, BBQ, all the world made sense (it was a Taurus & Taurus relationship, how’s that?)
I was expecting a reading around 7 PM, phone deal, and I called to confirm. Had to cancel. Or rather, switch to a different date. Which just means, I didn’t have to move from the river’s edge.
I’d showered before the morning reading, really just washing off left-over “road” grime, and then, after I got back from a swimming and BBQ, and fishing, I just took a second shower. I’m not normally so fastidious, but it just worked out. Seems like summer is fast-arriving.
There were actually, two fish in the afternoon sun, and I have two witnesses for the one that got away. Big ole feller, too. But what really happened? I’ll save that for a because it’s just such an excellent example. Or, a few people will hear about my tale, remember, this isn’t a fish tale, I have witnesses, about the one who got away. Hey, it wouldn’t be any fun if the fish don’t win on some occasions, right?
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[/style]Cherchez les poisson:
He was in about 7 or 8 feet of water, conditions were a little murky, and it was a small worm. Much earlier in the day, someone asked me what I was going to do, that, “If you could do anything, what do you really want to do this afternoon” kind of a question.
Fish some. Maybe catch a little bass.
I’d prefer a big bass, but that little feller was good by me. Nice fight, clean hook-set, and then, just as I was getting the hook out of his mouth, and letting him free, the hook punched a tiny hole in the ball of my finger. So there was blood, but it wasn’t fish blood. and it wasn’t the fish’s fault, so I couldn’t blame him.
Fish are friends, not food.
