The Tale of the Fisherman and the Pocomoke
On the midnight edge of the channel where the waters ran deep, above where the catfish combed the muddy bottom and where the bluegill and the crappie roamed slow in cold dark water, the old man sat patiently with rod in hand and cast his line deep. Long ago he’d mastered the art of jiggling his spinner and teasing for attention, using lures to match the color of the night sky. He’d caught a good-sized yellow perch just the night before. He served it with rice, fried it up with lemon and pepper until its moist meat flaked from its slender bones.
A Prayer from the Outer Rim
She loved me once, but can love endure? Her name is Cassie, after the constellation, Cassiopeia. She never liked that name, but I saw the beauty of it. It suited her. She was not that boastful queen of mythology. To me, she was queen of the very stars in my sky and the true love of my life.
“Thank you so much for dropping us off, Dad. I know how busy you’ve been.” “Don’t mention it,” he said, kissing his daughter on the cheek. “It’s been wonderful having you both visit. I only wish we could have spent more time together.”