Fishing

If you strip away the myth from the man.....

A man sat before his house and waited for the thought to come to him. He picked at something on his arm. He looked up to the crest of the hill at the far side of the broad valley before him. He looked back to his arm, he stretched his leg, he let his eyelids hang heavily. He felt the sun on the side of his face, the soft, tanned skin and gentle eyes soaking up the warmth. He scratched at the back of his head then let it lay back again against the stone of the house. He watched the horses grazing in the field to the left of him. He breathed out, a long breath, and closed his eyes again, he thought of nothing, he waited. The warmth of the morning sun moved slowly across his face.

In his heart something twitched. He waited. There was silence, the man breathed steadily, he kept his eyes shut. Something twitched again. He left himself open, careful not to pay attention. He smiled gently, it twitched again, closer, closer, closer.

Then the move; his body flinched forward, his gaze focussed as stone in the distance, he let go of himself and snapped out with his mind. Memories fled before him as with a great splash he entered his soul, grasping with all his feeling in the darkness, desperately trying to take hold of the unknown.

Too slow. The idea was gone, he'd moved too soon. The man pursed his lips and, disappointed with himself, he leaned back against the house and took up the game once more, emptying himself. He waited.