Seen Them Nazis Come Down Off the Ridge

At the farm pond last Saturday evening. It was a hot spring day today and now I’m watching Henry throw a buzzbait up against the bank. His casts are almost all pinpoint accurate. He lays the lure down where the water runs up into the cut reeds; he starts reeling before it even lands, just like I taught him. A largemouth slaps at Henry’s offering/ we both watch the V in the water where its dorsal fin approaches like a shark keying in on a seal. There’s not much difference. Bass and sharks are both killing machines. They both live for the smash and grab of attacking the innocent. They both destroy because it’s how things go.

Henry misses that one but a few casts later he connects/ and when a bulge of water surrounds his bait skimming across the surface he hollers out. There he is! His rod bends and the fight is on. I try to notice the sky (so blue) and the grass (lush and green) as my son narrates his own experience. As he tells me that the thing is fighting way more than it ought to be for such a small fish, I work at soaking it all in. Mindfulness crosses my mind. Be here now and all that.

There’s a red-winged blackbird hanging around barking at us. I think she must have a nest here somewhere. They love to build in the cattails, perching on the tippy tops so they can yell at other creatures that come close. But I like it. I like how they are so protective of their small claims on Earth. Fuck off, they announce to people strolling by with their styrofoam nightcrawler containers and their energy drinks and their weed or cigs.

FUCK.

THE.

FUCK.

OFF.