On this early morning our fishing-lines are thrown in deep
where the sun hangs over the surface that reflects it,
that shiny flat sheet lies motionless without a ripple
while coots pass with their calls as they fly over us.
It’s still a bit chilly in this early morning,
the sheet of water seems untouched and undisturbed
when you go to fetch a thermos flask full of hot tea
and in silence we drink and see the morning star in an azure sky.
Like a silver flash a carp suddenly leaps in the distance,
it’s just a speck that is as small as a pin
while it curls in the air and then falls back with a splash,
we are both dumbstruck by the sheer beauty of it.
From a nearby tree a fish-eagle calls its mate,
the coots pass and guide their chicks to the reeds,
this moment seems absolute holy
while silence hangs across the dam.
It’s as if God does pass on a morning visit
and even the yellow and red weavers
do stop their frolicking and twittering,
the nearby bush-doves are silent too.
Away at the jetty a motorboat’s engine roars alive,
it drags a water-skier up and down across our lines,
some water-bikes criss-cross to and thro
causing all of the birds to in alarm fly up.
Some Zimbabweans pass with reeds that they use as rods
and huge plastic buckets that they are going to fill
with even the most tiniest fishes
and anything that they can catch to use as food.
You say, “They are going to strip the dam of all fish.
They grind the small ones to make fish-cakes.”
I wonder why they do not stay in their own country?
You do read my thoughts.
“There is famine since they have evicted
the commercial farmers from their land
and now they are here in South Africa
to find better opportunities.”
Some more boats and water-bikes do pass
and they are sailing very near to the shore.
“They do not have respect for anyone.”
You are convinced that we can just as well pack up.
The reels sing as both our lines start to run off,
the bended small black sly-hooks do their thing
while we both jerk our rods upward
and I wonder who is going to help with the dip-net?
© Gert Strydom
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