Flying Fisherman

Flying Fisherman short poem

Photo by Wildlife Boy1

Winging my way through the air; high in the Cascade Mountain Range. With a serene wilderness lake just below me. Reflecting an exquisite brilliant sunrise of various shades of yellows, oranges, and golden hues. Reflected upon the glassy placid surface.
From my vantage point of flight, lake trout are noted, rising in the early morning mist. Feeding on insects, which are skimming the surface of this picturesque setting.
Folding my wings, this majestic golden eagle with a six foot wing span, dive bombs the surface of this reflective grand masterpiece. With a massive trout clutched tightly in my vise grip like talons I soar away. Gaining altitude with my struggling prey.
With the magnificent golden orb just breaking the eastern skyline, showering Creation with golden beams of sunshine. The haunting lonesome voice of a loon, calls out from the mist enshrouded reeds. In classical recognition of the awakening day. This enhancing wilderness yodel, releasing energy into my frenzied fishing flight, bouncing out across this supreme wilderness body of water.
A stand of old growth fir trees at the back drop of this pristine wilderness theater, is my dining area. Ah!! I’ll lock my catch in the fork of this knurled weather beaten tree trunk. And eat until my appetite has been saphonsified.

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3 Comments on "Flying Fisherman"

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ammu sachariah

Nice poem. I loved it.

Nadeem Qazilbash

This six feet wingspan! Is it a superpower hidden in the feathers of a bald eagle! Words have shadows and those shadows have meanings…


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