....I did today.....
...A little prospecting.
Some people like to look back at the end of the day to see a nice straight furrow. Plowed deep and even, with the black turned up to face the sun. Ready for another furrow to be plowed beside it, as identical to it as possible. Until the number of them add up to a field, ready for the planting, and the watering, and tending, so at last to the harvest.
Some like to hunch over their numbers, and charts, and graphs. Adding, subtracting, tweaking, manipulating until the answer suits them or their employer.
Some chase little white balls around over a finely manicured lawn, or strain to bash a slightly larger ball over the fence, or between the goal posts, or thru a round metal hoop. Contemplating their newest sponsorship or mortgage payment on their vastly overpriced and oft times ill constructed manse in the most popular country club estates. Where their finely dressed and perfumed mates wait for them to fall prey to some small indiscretion, anticipating their next 4 million dollar diamond ring, bought at retail from the most expensive haute coutier jeweler. A small trophy for another small slip from grace of one of the pantheon of sports gods.
Mr. Grizzle of my youth, and my fathers youth, looked forward to a fine fall day, among the reds and golds and greens of the forests along the Alcovy. Where, after a breakfast of cured ham, redeye gravy and biscuits, he'd slip away with his English Setter an old Sears and Roebuck 16 gauge double barrel, and 4 shells. To seek once more to show only himself that his eye and hands were still steady.
As a boy in the early spring, just after the first hard rain to follow the first warm spell, as soon as the water cleared a bit. We'd go, my father and I, and perhaps an uncle or two, down to the river just after dark. To wade knee deep in the fast running water, shining our lights downward looking for the silver gleam of our quarry. Round, heavy laden with roe and long as your forearm or perhaps your whole arm, Suckers .
An inelegant name for an inelegant fish, which any other time of the year would patrol the bottom of ponds, lakes and swamps deep enough, eating and trying to avoid being eaten. But at this magical time of year would travel up the streams thru shallows barely deep enough to travel, in order to lay their roe, and thus begin another generation of their species. Begin that is if they could run our gauntlet and avoid our gigs.
Perhaps this is one of the many reasons I've never been one to sit quietly on a stand, waiting patiently for that big buck to wander unsuspectingly down the path, head outstretched in hopes of finding the doe who left that tantalizing aroma in the air.
Preferring to soar quietly thru the air, like a falcon seeking prey, to streak breathlessly downward, wings pulled in tight, faster than wind, to emerge either victorious or empty handed, in search of whatever it is I hope to find.
Today I found stones, blue green as the sea, wrapped gleaming in Platinum. And one, square, seemingly flawless, perfect as a princess, white trophy to the successful hunt.
After which.......
........I returned to the Kudzu.
