The Fisher’s Tale Since the long, long and distant past here flowed the fisher’s river. Fisher stalks the river dawn to dusk, sonorous chant embues each stride : ‘Wildest river, flows by my side at my birth she became my bride. At dawn she moves me, at noon she soothes me, at dusk she woos me. She I follow, entrust my breath.’ And so it was till the fiercest storm came. River in dire need she can’t stem the flow wrestles her wandering temperament breaks free, gouges a restless way. On a dry bed of boulders fisher wades across pools of silt. Arid bend to bend, parched bank to bank. Desolate stones full of intention, piles upon piles of redundant faces no longer carry surging waves. Silent the rumbling tones of shifting stones, mute the chorus of watery sounds, gone all melodies that nurture the soul. Boulder shoulders boulder, a forsaken spine carries no flesh odours linger - fisher has no waters. Haunted chant flows from fisher’s lungs: ‘Wild river, timbre of my breath my feet stand on dry bones. Strong river who tempered my souI, all waters fled - stumbles my strength. Warbling river who stilled my heart my pulse worn out, I am bereft.’ Fisher edges over a lip of stone drops both feet on the river’s bones moves with care, rests on barren pool listens deeply under tree-fern’s shade. His hand brushes off lichen scales, a finger draws on powdered silt. Still as stone, exhausted by sorrow, memories flood this treasured space: Trout hiding in tree-fern’s shadow waiting for mayfly’s mortal dance, when wings caress the coolest pool fisher too enters the final dance. Dry breeze stirs, silt swirls, sand tumbles. Ancient hymn stirs on fisher’s breath: ‘Sorchar nan Ruel, Creator of earth, river, sky rescue me in Your kindness. Do not be mute to me, my breath laid waste, my face fallen, lead me to the River of Life.’ Fisher feels the flow of twirling sands. A tickle drums in fisher’s ear undulations of watery tones. Fisher casts eyes towards unseen waters, attunes ears to soothing sounds, sluicing waters, droplets falling - Heaven's river unimagined. A cursory glance will not do. The trout is in fisher’s movement from the dry pool the fisher rises.
© Craig A Roberts, 2024 Sorchar nan Ruel: “Lightener of the Stars”, the Scots-Gaelic poetic name of Jesus Christ. Photo: Author