THIRTYARDS

Early one morning I cast to a grey and cold sea under a low misty sky, the waves breaking super white against the rocks. Held hidden in their petrol clear circular hearts were secret steel fish that I felt were hunting there. I imagined the fish moving fast, low and tight to the bottom invigorated by the crystal water, swimming quickly and tracking together in patterns of efficiency and stealth invisible between silver curtains of bubbles. The fish, a pack bound together in a fractured world of light and wave where no small living thing would move for fear of being eaten. I felt the anticipatory flame of expectation flare in my heart, a basic and primitive sense that told me it was right. Jim Hendrick