Sunday, March 25, 2018

"Virginia Street" by Jennifer Hayashida

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February on another coast is April
here. Astrology is months:
you are February, or are you
June, and who is
December? Who is books
read in spring, wingspan
between midnight
and mourning

Another starry tree, coastal
counterpoint where magnolia is
a brighter season
peach and pear
are grafted onto the same tree
fear and fat stick
to the same sprained bone
For this adolescent reprise
recycle everything trivial
but this time bring
the eye into sight:
make sight superior
to what is seen

A decade is to look at June
and see April
to look at April
and see February
Relief of repetition
seasons mean again,
one flowering branch suspended
in the half-light of spring
We sat on steps
beneath a tree
No: I walked by
The tree bloomed
and I looked up

Still Waiting

When I said "here it comes," I was thinking of Spring, not another week of winter. Enough already.

The First Day of Spring 

The Fifth Day of Spring


Maiden Voyage: Finally Fishing

On the day before the First Day of Spring the morning dawned bright. By noon the temp was 59 degrees. People were wearing T-shirts as they jogged and walked their dogs. Seemed like a good day to take the float tube out for the first time.


On my drive to Yellowwood the clouds started to roll in. Then a stiff little breeze started up. It was jacket weather by the time I launched.


The water was cool to my legs and feet but not frigid. The hot coffee I'd brought was welcome, though. I'm using a tin cup now since I dropped the cup from my old Stanley thermos into the lake last fall. That's better than the whole thermos. I may get a new Stanley cup when it becomes important to me.


I was throwing a beadhead leech pattern up toward the bank, as is my wont. On one retrieve the line rose up and I realized the fly had stopped moving toward me. I raised up and found a nice little Spring largemouth on the end.


That was the first fish of the year, and I felt that I could once more accurately call what I was doing "fishing."


I backed up to the same spot along the shoreline and found one more bass in there.


That was encouraging. I continued on remembering early season anglers in kayaks and bass boats last year throwing big flies and baits. I pictured in my mind the exact big hungry bass that I would like to catch. Geese flew noisy laps around the lake as I looked for it.


I found another bass, but not the lunker I was hoping for.


The lunker of the day came next: a big heavy crappie. A very handsome fish that took the fly with a proper hit. I checked back where I had caught it hoping to get into a school of them, but no more came to the fly.


It was getting colder.


The light was going.


The breeze picked up and little squalls of rain pelted me.


I heard an unmistakable bluegill pop and looked up to see a rise ring right up by the bank. I tied on a dry fly and tried to cast it in but the wind wrapped the leader around my rod. It took way too long to untangle it but when I did I found a holographic bluegill wrapped around the fly. I didn't see the take but it's the first fish on a dry this season.


I was running out of time, and then the squalls turned into a steady rain. By now my legs and feet were numb and I wasn't having fun anymore. I kicked for the takeout dragging the beadhead leech behind me.


One more little bass hooked up just before the takeout.


It was raining pretty hard, so I loaded up the tube, kicked off my boots, stripped my vest and rain jacket and threw them in the truck, and drove home in my wet waders. With the heat set on high. At home I enjoyed a long hot shower before bedtime.

The next morning, the First Day of Spring, was freezing cold and the tube was frozen into the truck bed.


And by that evening it was covered in snow.


Happy Spring!