I’m no poet I know, but something I wrote a while back has been brewing this, and while I’m not sure it captures the feeling, not sure I have words that can, its my best attempt. This is me, 10 years old. This is Apsey Brook, this is Random Island. This is why, to me, my little piece of the rock is perfect, and this was a perfect moment in time.
It is the summer of my childhood
rod in hand, I stroll to the wharf
an osprey circles overhead
the world breathes in time with his wings
The waves slap the wharf pilings lightly
an unbaited hook drifts to bottom
jiggling, luring a flatfish
snapping sharply, missing
flatfish abandoned, following the shore
flat rocks skipping, skipping
round ones thrown high
attempting a dead mans bubble
driftwood boats ply their trade
seagulls cry, sterrins chirrup
stranded jelly fish decorate the beach
twillicks chase the tide
up the brook, dark pools beckon
beams of sunlight through sun dappled leaves
catch trout swirling, dancing
ignoring the unbaited hook
rocks make a dam, circling the pool
smaller, smaller, trout contained
hands grab, miss, grab again, fish squirts free,
youth splashes, suddenly soaked
The drops fall in slow motion
sunbeams dry me
walking back, boots slosh
the world breathes with me
Raised in outport Newfoundland in a town of 65 people, I pursued a post secondary diploma in Information Technology right out of High School.
I’ve always been a geek at heart, but yet I love the rural life I grew up with. Fishing, hunting, camping and the great outdoors are still loves of mine, even if I don’t pursue them as often as I once did. Sports were always a big part of our lives, and I played many (badly) and loved them all.
I say that’s pretty good considering you were only 10 at the time.
No, it’s about when I was 10 not written when I was