Fishing At Jason's Lake

Journey to Jason’s Lake

We drove down narrow dirt roads, where sun-drops 

Splashed through the moss-draped arms of live oaks

To welcome us.

And fields of seasoned sunflowers lowered 

Their weighted hooked heads, as if to

Reverence this rite of passage.

We turned past tall patient bricks,

A fire hearth that long ago had cast itself, 

Strong and sure into the reels of time.

And we waded through wisps of luring laughter 

That taunted us to try our luck

As young ghosts of SeaCloud¹  once had.

When the car fished its way, jumping and wriggling 

Over the old footbridge, I imagined how other bare feet 

Had once sauntered over these wooden planks, 

With cane poles bobbing and lines dancing in the wind.

But now, it’s your turn to stand near the lakes edge, 

A lanky lad of fourteen years, silhouetted

By the drag of a still, summer day.

Your image hung against the southern sky 

Framed by marsh-grass and Egret’s flight

While tidewaters turn at your feet.

It’s your tale. Two young friends

Floundering with snarled lines 

Stolen bait, and gnats that buzz your resolve.

It’s your time. With your line cast and your tip low

The strike comes.

Then with a flash of scales, it wakes the water.

 Now you jerk to set the hook, and your stance stiffens 

As you fight the  unknown "monster of the deep."

Soon I hear you call out, “I got one!”

I watch and join in the excitement of the catch. 

You pull and turn this way and that, unsure

Until you arch your back and try once more.

Silently I savor the moment and I pray

That each time you cast,  you will wrap yourself 

six times around and back through 

Until your knot secure's itself 

Around the lake’s rain-dance, 

Around the Heron's flight, 

And around the joy that hooked us all

As we tried our luck rigging and jigging 

On Jason’s Lake.                

       Linda Conkey Shaw August 18, 2011