As I continue combing through old computer files, I find the bare bones of poems written some time ago. This one looks to have been started sometime in the late 80s or early 90s. It is difficult to tell.
I have re-worked it again this week on my Underwood 319. I continue to enjoy the not-perfect, visual beauty of the typed page over the sterile perfection of the keyboarded computer file. If my hand-writing was at all legible, I would probably enjoy that as well. Creation is after all a physical thing.
Religious themes, as well as mountain and fishing images crop up continually in my poems. This poem is no exception.
For those who have been lucky enough to stand on the shore of a mountain lake early in the morning and seen the trout rising and the sun coloring the peaks, you know in this world that is as close to heaven as you will ever be.
On another cold February morning, I am thinking warm thoughts and of warmer days.