waiting to be born
we worked both sides of the stream
looking for deep pools to cast our souls
it was late september and a cool breeze
had gradually reddened your cheeks
we had strolled along for an hour now
stopping on two occasions
enticing brown trout to strike live bait
filtered light shone through a network
of ripened limbs losing their luster
revealing a part of you I had never seen
without saying a word we picked up
our things and moved on empty-handed
over the years the stream had changed
but over my lifetime remained the same
looking back I spotted a young me
pretending to be someone I was not
catching my limit in very short order
little did I know you were always near
guiding me back to this solitary place
years before you were meant to be born
december two thousand fifteen
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