The Strike



The Strike

•

warm
familiar
comfortable in my palm
my fingers wrap natural cork
index raised
gauging line tension

precision brings the willow’d shaft
high above my shoulder
flexing expectantly

a flick of my wrist
and the rod arcs forward
increasing the pressure
on my fingertip
as it bends ahead
urgently
seeking release

then
a careful pluck
like a string
on a guitar

it is launched

the ultralight lure
golden at line’s end
sails silent
into the squinting summer sun

with a subtle plick
the barbless hunter disappears
slipping ‘neath the sparkle
of the undulating steam

seductively
I retrieve the bait
with quickening pulse
eagerly visualizing
anticipating the strike

patience draws the offering
alluringly
dancing ever nearer

I long for the sharp
powerful tug

for the slender thread
unreeled before me
to rise
and dart away
in a sliver of silver spray

for my heart to jump
as a proud trout
breaks water
victim to my seduction

in this moment
mind focused
breath steady
senses heightened
awaiting sudden contact

I reflect

there is a simple truth in fishing
as in life

the thrill of possibility
can be as rich
as the reward

• • •

rob kistner © 2008

• photorendering entitled “The Strike” by: rob kistner © 2008

Sacred

A hike into the Cascade Mountains, in image and verse.

Author’s note: It was a beautiful day for hiking here in Oregon, so I made a trek into the Mt. Hood wilderness — camera in hand, notebook and pen in my shirt pocket. This is my day, shared with you here, in image and verse. The photo is a shot of Lost Lake, through the trees, with Mt. Hood in reflection.

lostlake2.jpg

Sacred

•

my footfalls
drum the root chambers of the old growth

each step cushioned
by centuries of needle-drop
in this ancient forest

enjoying the rise and fall
twist and turn of the trail
I amble

feeling the smoothness of my walking stick
clutched comfortably in my right hand

an audible stir in the treetops

wind
wafting down the western Cascade slopes

invigorating

the steady rhythm of my footsteps

hypnotic

rounding a bend
brushing through waist-high fern
I crest a knoll
and stop

mesmerized

light drifts down dreamlike
filtered by the woodland canopy
settling golden around me

a power
a presence
is tangible

a breeze enfolds me

intoxicating

the scent of living earth
an addictive bouquet
cedar
Douglas fir
Ponderosa pine
moss
bark
loam
and ionized mountain air

my spirit rises
my being – weightless

I float away
lifted into oneness
wholeness

epiphonal

suddenly
I’m startled

a young doe bounds onto the trail
standing proud
golden in the light

she considers me briefly
then disappears
quick as a stolen glance
quiet as passing time

my eyes dart to find her
here then there
in vain

I catch a glimpse
silver-blue
shimmering
where massive trees part

wind-blown mountain water
crisp
clear
it sparkles

Lost Lake
the namesake of this trail
my reason for this trek into wilderness

climbing a boulder at trail’s edge
I sit
pull my legs under me
lean forward
elbows on knees

I face lake-ward
basking in the energy
of this natural cathedral

I become very still
listening
gazing

just being

in rapt wonderment
at the magnificence that surrounds me

this place is my church
this moment is my prayer

I am in touch with my soul

with the eternal

• • •

rob kistner © 2007