The Lake

“The Lake”

(for my late father)

Stiff wind, skate across the lake

time to wet a line…

Fingers, once nimble,

tasks once simple

now betray the angler’s mind.

Trolling slow, through the wake,

White caps, choppy might

tosses bobbing boat, still afloat—

safe, from morn to night.

Cast away, through fog or gale…

sunshine’s day divine.

Attention to surface tension,

the while, o’ how flies time.

Growing cold, rain pelts down,

gray lake, clouds doth make.

Darker, grows the pond, now forever bond

with angler, and his take.

Fishing, so like the sunset

passes, all too Swift.*

Sinking horizon, keep your eyes on

the catch that is the fish.

*a reference to Swift Reservoir on the Lewis River

Gregory E. Zschomler, author of more than a dozen books, and his wife own Harbor Books in Aberdeen, Washington.

SHARING STORIES is a weekly column for and about the 50 plus crowd living in the Puget Sound region. Send your stories and photos to ariele@comcast.net. Tell local or personal stories; discuss concerns around aging and other issues; share solutions, good luck, and reasons to celebrate; poems are fine too. Pieces may be edited or excerpted. We reserve the right to select among pieces. Photos are always a plus and a one-sentence bio is requested (where you live, maybe age or career, retired status, etc.).

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