"Tim J." schrieb im Newsbeitrag
news2PAb.453726$HS4.3558261@attbi_s01...
SNIP
Seems as good a place as any to say "Welcome back, Mike." It's good to see
you
posting again.
--
TL,
Tim
http://css.sbcma.com/timj


Thank you. Surprising how one misses this place, and how soon one feels "at
home" again in it. Decidedly odd, and very mixed feelings involved. One does
indeed regard many of the people here as old friends. Even though I have
never met most of them, and never will.

I am in rather a quandary as it happens. Perhaps an identity crisis? Who am
I , what am I , why am I? I don´t really know. I have not been fishing for
quite a while, and the few times I did go, I was not particularly
enthusiastic. I have not even tied any flies, or built any tackle for a
long time. All my stuff lies unused and ignored in various places about the
house. Having spent nearly all my life passionately engaged in fishing, or
at least some aspect of it, this is a most unfortunate turn of events.
Mainly because there are no alternatives. I don´t really know much about
anything else, certainly not in the same way, nor was I ever much interested
in anything else. One can not turn the clock back, and I can not think of
any even remotely similar pastime which would be so absorbing anyway. It
would be most regrettable to lose interest altogether.

Nevertheless, it is good to talk about it again at least. I will just have
to wait and see what transpires. Perhaps my enthusiasm will return. Maybe I
am just getting old faster than I thought.

Behold the winding, dancing, sparkling stream,
ethereal, enchanting, as in some joyous youthful dream,
beheld, and then, the all consuming wish,
to carry home the stream´s elusive fish.

But dreams fade rapidly at last, like youth.
Advancing age, and weariness, reveal the truth,
all the battles, and the fish you caught,
mean nothing much, it was not fish you sought.

Peace, contentment, and a happy life,
free of troubles, sickness, and all other strife,
fishing may indeed these earthly woes transcend,
as angler makes his way around another river bend.

`Tis sad that one may not just simply fish one´s life away,
ignoring all the cares and problems, always bright and gay,
but life intrudes most rudely, and forces one´s attention,
sometimes overpowering, defying comprehension.

Dreams are scattered then, borne away on evil winds,
as humdrum life the once great hope and joy rescinds,
ambition dies, one sinks in mournful contemplation,
of how things were, of each and every revelation.

Knowledge gained, seems worthless on reflection,
one is enchained for hours and days by useless circumspection.
a rod, a box of flies, once source of magical enjoyment,
now sit ignored, unused, no point in their deployment.

"Hope springs eternal", or so ´tis often lightly said,
even when the wings of spirit, have feet of lead.
I will yet take my rod and flies to some bright stream again,
I know I will, all I do not know, is when?

TL
MC