I F I C L O S E M Y E Y E S , H E A R I N G T H E R U S H O F W A T E R I N M Y M E M O R Y , I S T I L L S E E T H A T S M I L E .
mammoth fish fill the day with promise . We mesh . It is a father - son dance . Cast upon cast we waltz in eddies and riffles . It has a melody of its own , one with which we are both familiar . The bites will come if we are patient . Soon , the beat of the river bottom is committed to touch , and I anticipate its contours . Tap , bump bump , tap tap , and then a beat is missed …. I strike ! Leaning back into the rod and watching it bend as the line sings like a plucked string on a harp . The fish runs and my reel hisses in protest . I bring him a little closer , simultaneously fighting the current and the powerful silver king . We battle until my wrists ache and my forearms are on fire . At last , he surrenders , his heart burst from the effort , a valiant fight , a worthy opponent . So , the day goes . Dad fights , then I do . Now the pair wait at his feet to be cleaned and hauled back to the truck . Had I known that there was another battle raging , I would have done more . I wish I had felt the pause , his change in rhythm . But I didn ’ t and I couldn ’ t . My wife never told me about the pain in his arm as he drove her to camp , causing him to stop at the side of the road . I imagine , that merely a week later he fought valiantly like that bright salmon on the Feather , struggling against an invisible force that dragged him from this world and onto the banks of heaven . If I close my eyes , hearing the rush of water in my memory , I still see that smile .
SIDNEY HO, "AC R YLIC PAINTING #1"
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