Troutwatching
No rod, reel, or flies today. For the sake of
family peace, I left the tools of my obsession
at home, but out walking the dog along
shallow, clear Shawneehaw Creek before dinner,
we stop on a wooden footbridge, so I can
watch a little trout holding in the current,
ever attentive for what might come his way
(or even near his way). My patience pays off—
he darts to the surface for an almost
invisible morsel of food, then returns
to the exact same spot, his back blending
in against the mottled bottom of the stream.
I marvel to a passerby that with the quick
current and their tiny brains, they can
distinguish potential food from other
minute detritus drifting past. It’s
their job, he shrugs. Good point, I think—if
they can’t figure this out, they won’t survive—
the mystery not diminished in the least.
Mesmerized by this young trout (maybe
four inches long) repeating this pattern
(dart and return, dart and return), I stay
until the sky dusks, and I hurry home, late
for dinner, but nourished by what I’ve seen.
…..
This poem is from the chapbook Troutwatching by Dallas Crow (Finishing Line Press), and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/troutwatching-by-dallas-crow/
A life-long Midwesterner, Dallas Crow now finds himself living in Atlanta, where he is a high school English teacher. His poems, stories, and nonfiction pieces (essays, journalism, and criticism) have appeared in publications around the country. He is the author of one previous chapbook, Small, Imperfect Paradise.
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