The Last Cast
by Huntleigh Price
Another day is winding down
An empty stringer dangles
The Mallards glide in for the night
My fingers are stiff, wrinkled and brown
I pray for no tangles
and a little more sunlight
The sun is falling into the western sky
Alone relishing in my solitude
As the rings ripple across the lake
My monster Bass dances for a fly
Full of attitude
And creating his own wake
I smile and quickly switch my tackle
in desperation and determination I select a rat-l-trap
Imagining myself in a fancy boat, wearing a shirt covered in sponsorship patches
If my rod was a whip you would have heard it crackle
Trying to disguise myself in a camouflage cap
Thinking about Papa fishing in Natchez
I won't have kids, now it is too late
So my legacy will be the trophy
The elusive over ten pounder
Not at this rate
Pulling up the crank bait covered in algae
My mind drifts to a scene from "Sounder"
Think good thoughts- let it go
Another castaway
Metaphors and parallels define my life
He taunts and bruises my ego
It's a game and he is having his way
Flickering and splashing leaving me no chance to unlock my knife
Fish disregards the fading beauty and sun damaged skin
Only living for today
Uninterested in power bait, daredevils or my lucky spoon
It's pure dusk; headlights approach around the bend
The lake has gone silent and now a new light shines on the bay
Venus rises accompanied by a waxing Moon
Forced to go in
But he knows it is me and that I will be back
Earlier than today but later than yesterday
I still have another chance and realizing there is nothing to win
It's all about the moment, staying balanced and keeping on track
The art of the cast is using all of my senses and forgetting the past
This is the Fisherman's Way.