I Salute You, Passing Captain

To wretch.  To reach way down deep.  Grab that thing making your acid roll around without stopping.  Yank it up and hurl it away.  Grab the infestation by the horns and wrangle it on down.  YUCK.

Strolling along the sidewalk... at a leisurely pace - no where in particular to be.  I begin to wonder.  What is it that you think of me?  Know that I use my own God-given flashlight and don't live on the lamps of others for my day to day.

But what is it inside that makes you tick the way you do when I enter the frame?

Do I scare you?  Is there something that I do that makes you want to be less like you?  Is there something less-visible perching on my shoulder that constantly keeps you at bay.  That unconscious tug pulling you the other way?

Or maybe it is completely conscious.  The pull is but a push.  As if you'd rather have little to do with me and hide inside a bush.  This is fine, of course, but I'd like to know the reason.  It seems as if the rope of tension grows more taught with every attempt to loosen.

Another crack in the sidewalk, gently glided over on the way to the park.  Strolling through the green scene from head to toe.  All the while taking in that lovely aroma of leaves just before they let go of their branches.  The branches.

The branches don't seek a reason, but they repeat every season.  How is it that they're never confused by the signs of times ago?  Or is it that they just don't know?  Maybe the trees are so rooted in firm ground that it bothers them not where the leaf drifts.

The trees know why they're here.  They're here to get life to the extremes.  Get water, nutrition, and support to the fluttering leaves.  Worried little about why and where they eventually go.  Always firm.  Always grounded.  Always ready to supply in times of need.

Hop into the boat in the park's lake and what do I see?  A pane of glass with boats gliding in all directions.  Some going in circles - some bouncing off boundaries.  All going in directions that I could not begin to comprehend.  The straighter I go across toward my goal, the more wildly they dance across the water.

It seems as if a boat on point would look lost from the shore, when the captain knows the destination true.  I guess you could say what the captain says matters, and little else - in this lake, anyway.

So to you, passing captain, I salute and wave with well wishes.  I cast my rod and try to feed the fishes.  To bite is a choice I cannot control.  This I know.