The First Catch
Photo by Ben Hendon for iStock THE FIRST CATCH River, morning hush— a line arcs through breath and sunlight, touches trembling water, brushes stone. Waiting is its own prayer. Then— Surprise becomes weight, a silvery fish. This is the beginning— pulse, real and freeing. This is belonging. This is grace. This is true. ----- This Quadrille (44 word poem) shared with those fly line folks over at DVerse Poets . ©2025 Christopher Reilley I would love to know what you thought about this piece. Please consider leaving a comment.
