The Long Morn
Hearing the tiny motor sputter to life wakes me from my still-dreaming state
It reminds me of my long morn, my long journey, my long search for fish in their depths,
That I must take
For the ones back home, still sleeping, with their heads in the clouds, oblivious to reality
They don’t know that reality is cold and bleak, but I will never admit.
The still-darkness of the west blends with the calm waters it harbors,
But the sun – peeking out from the folds of the waves, wondering who is disturbing its slumber – reflects off the sea, painting it orange
It is my road and mine alone
As my boat bobs along, it has no visible company
But bravely follows the blazing trail to my calling.
A feeling of fatigue overcomes me, but a gust of wind rattles me to my core, I shiver to pass the time,
A feeling of solitude grows in me as my friend, my guide – the sun – climbs higher and disappears behind the boundless clouds,
A feeling of weakness hits me as I lift the anchor to throw it overboard, my sore arms reminded of every time I did for the past 20 years,
A feeling of doubt creeps into me, a familiar one, that I greet every day, as I think of my family that I do it all for.
But alas! A tug on the line! A struggle with the beast! And a catch for me!
Ah what joy a single fish brings!
I haul the stranger onto my boat,
He not only brings the taste of company, but the celebration of triumph.
My long morn has just begun, but it is looking up.
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