It's been a difficult few days. . .
things that I thought were done and tied up neatly
have been unravelling,
plunging me back into uncertainty.
Feeling the sinking in the pit of my stomach
I begin walking,
allowing myself to touch back into just this moment
just this step.
I see Chris fishing, his mom nearby.
Although he appears to be no more than 10 or 11
he is a surprisingly knowledgeable and competent fisherman,
Arcing the line far over the water
and pulling it in with adept flicks
so that it truly seems that a live frog is on the end --
tempting bait for the large-mouthed bass that swim the pond.
"I always throw them back," he tells me.
I'm very careful with them. Sometimes I have to cut the line and leave the hook,
but the acid in the fish's stomach will dissolve it," he says.
Then I give him the bowl and start to photograph..
"Wait," he says, "wouldn't it look great if I hold it up and you can see the water behind it."
He is absolutely right! Much better than the first few against his shirt.
Later, I encounter the shards of a goddess left three years before.
I walk home.
Things are still unraveling . . .
but I am more at peace with that . . .
for this moment at least.