I move through the cathedral of trees
to a place that both quiets and stirs my soul.
The ravens overhead ever in attendance
at this service they call home.
The choir sings their serene song:
the breeze whistling through the branches--
while the river rushing over the rocks--
The trees give way to the sanctuary
and there I take in the shining, melodious waters
I offer up my penance,
four-count casts in a series of perpetual hope
for a rise not just for fish but in spirit.
A wise friend once told me
that once in a while you must sacrifice.
A fly to the rock gods, a fly to the tree gods,
a fly to the snagging stick in the hole.
I smile now if I get caught and tangled.
John was right.
Sometimes after the sacrifice
you move to a new hole, new water.
When you start again,
you’re a little wiser, a little more careful,
and you should be able to hook
what you want to reel in.