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The Man Of The River
Mark Wilson |
I have a whole new sense of respect
for the fish of Rocky River.
The ugly carp with their sucker mouths,
the fighting, jumping steelhead
running against the current
and their brother, the elusive trout.
Oh, the river is quite clear
and shallow in spots,
but they are masters of escape.
I have said a prayer to God
that these giants would not get away,
yet a black carp darts around my leg
and to safety up river,
running against the current.
After this, the fish are gone,
warned as it were to stay away
from the man in the river.
I trudge around hopelessly with my net.
They are on to me.
An old man asks me if I have seen the steeliest running,
"yes, I have seen the steelhead running,
running away from me."
And he reassures me that this is still
a fine way to spend an evening.
In the middle of this shallow river
with the incredible current
is a large rock, where I can sit
and admire the shale cliffs,
which were carved by this water
falling gradually towards Lake Erie.
Down stream is the place
my aunt had dubbed "Mark's Island,"
the Isle of Mark.
I rechristened thee:
Joshua Island,
the new man of the river
when I am gone.
We named this thing, along
with Lilly Inlet
and Mommy Isle further north.
And in this place
I am reassured of God's love
for me and His entire creation.
He answered my prayer,
though not in the way I had expected.
No fish came my way last night.
It was not their time to die
and not at my hands.
And not one scale on their backs
came to harm.
In this, he showed me He is in control,
that things will happen in time,
when it is His will.
Glory to Him who created me,
the man of the river.
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