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Our fish-catching journey began early on a windy winter morning, when we were awakened before dawn by the cherry tree’s branches beating a tattoo on the window,   urging us outside to wait in silence for our ride, the dewy mist trembling with anticipation around us. On the drive to the shore, our wipers lazed against a fine   fume of drizzle, rural Maryland growing like grey mushrooms into the dawn, winter-thin trees presenting themselves nervously like wedding parties, all s

I gathered all my nets to the sea wall where I have sat segregated, tightly wrapt in my old green blanket, skinny legs dangling over the edge, fishing all day. Sunset ripens gently, a bough of mangoes on the western branch. The moon lunges at Heaven’s Head.                             The sea goes by, gossiping.   I caught mostly catfish and dogfish, alack, threw them all back. The bait pail is empty, the tide is out, but my line keeps water and the errant eyes roam and repor

On a memorial bench for someone’s loved one, the forest behind me, I sit watching the river coil in its course, muscles softening,   numberless eyes gleaming in the sunlight, watching itself. This river has always been here, ever since it heard a voice calling   it to the surface from the primordial womb deep inside the earth, giving birth to a steaming rill, pooling among   the reeds and bullrushes before rushing down a mountainside to carve gorges and smooth stones. It slid