ASYLUM ACHIEVED

It's been, oh maybe, twenty years
since last I came this way.
Or maybe it was yesterday.
Time goes quickly, it's hard to say.

My rod's with me, I'm here to fish
in mountain waters running clear and white
in hope this setting will diminish
memories of loss ere comes the night.

So I stop beside a stoney riffle's pool
tie on a fly, I hope to match the hatch
then wave my rod, my wand, my tool
and lock my thoughts up with a latch.

Southern summer's sun warms my old cap
while cold river makes my feet turn blue
but I manage to ignore all that
while laying line out straight and true.

Mend the line, adjust the drift
to pass near the far side's gravel shore
then begin the next cast's lift.
The wand waves and places line once more.

I soon settle into a thoughtless groove,
rod moving like a long thin metronome,
feet sensing slick bottom with each move
for the next target tired eyes search and roam.

Once in a while a flash and jump
as a rainbow gets a rude surprise
then dashes toward a rock or stump.
I either catch or lose the prize.

Time slowly adds to straw creel's weight
but the spell breaks when the sun turns west
while shadows stretch from cliffs of of slate.
I'm grateful;for a short time I've been blessed.

For these few hours I forgot to grieve,
forgot another loved one laid to rest.
But now it's time for me to leave
and chase the sun home toward the west.