Ph: Mentor: Fishing With Older Men Poem by Brian Johnston

The silence, the almost endless joyful silence,
That's what I remember most looking back,
Silence and belonging, companionship,
Not in Nature so much as part of it,
Absolutely indispensible we were,
As if God Himself, the great ‘I AM, '
Would not exist, if we were not here,
Lines, hanging organic from pole ends,
Like branches of a weeping willow
Disappearing into the glassy water,
A living lollipop for nascent fish to gum,
Hoping to evolve into birds perhaps,
Wondering what it would be like
To swim in air and sleep on tree limbs.
All this in the forever present, stretching to infinity,
Here, now, fishing with older men!
 
Their faces blend together, rustic, tan,
Until God Himself is indistinguishable from
Cliff, Johnny, CH, or Uncle Jimmy
But Granddad Neighbors is the twinkle in God's eyes,
Clarence and his boys, bringing God down to earth
Ardean too, though I never fished with him,
Mother's five brothers, she was the one…
Ardean hooked me with his music,
I swallowed that bait whole, so deep,
It have would killed me to retrieve the hook.
Every ripple on the lake, every wave,
Whole notes in an endless adagio,
The movement Mahler longed to write,
Welcoming us back to home fires, fish to fry,
Breathing the smoky air of countless stars,
All of us fishermen forever!