13 June 2012
As the Sun peeps through the veil of night, And the chorus of a morning sings a prelude to the day, The boy awakes, and gathers up the tools of a hunters way.
The crispy chill of day break catches sharp upon his lungs, And a journey of expectance leads away from Dad and Mum.
As a mist swells up from dewy fields and reveals the lair of his prey, He creeps along the narrow path through mud and leaves so dank.
A ripple, then a splash gives away the quarry, the hunt is not a futile folly but a boys excitement, of being free from sadness and torment.
He knows just where he is in this world and the escapism it provides. To hunt, awakens the man inside he knows he has to become.
As lure is thread, his heart sings out and as he plays, the warmth of the morning sun warms the river and the dragonflies begin their dance.
Hour after hour he moves from one spot of beauty to another until he finds the Wiley creature effortlessly still in the current beneath the ancient willow.
They have pitched their skills many times and always the mighty warrior dodged the hunter for another day, today would be that day.
A lure made from his very hand, no shop brought magic he could ill afford, The dog fur and feather moulded to resemble the graceful mayfly.
Cast ahead of the beast in silver armour the lure dances to a hunters tune. The mighty fish partners in the dance not sure of it’s intention.
And as always in natures way, hunger takes over and the lure is sucked into a mouth that belies the body, the fight between the hunter and the hunted begins.
Surge after surge the fish is played, despite the dash for root or rock this was the day of a boy, who in a small way had grown a step closer to becoming a man.
What happened to the mighty hunted? Not a meal nor adornment on fireside did it become, he is still waiting and watching somewhere out there ready to give another boy the right of passage to manhood.
A Right Of Passage • Opuss № I