Day's End: A Poetry Thursday Poem (and a Friday addition)

I'm going to try this again. This week’s Poetry Thursday writing exercise is to “borrow” a line from another Poetry Thursday author and incorporate it into a poem. The line I borrowed, “just when the firefly reflections move further out over the water,” is from Dana Guthrie Martin’s poem, “Mother at the Lake (1971).” The photo to the left taken in Northern Ontario, August 1992.

Day’s End

The wind dies with the day.
I reel in my line,
storing the rod on top of the gunnels,
and pick up my paddle,
digging it deep into the water.
With a steady rhythm,
I propel the bow
toward a chorus of frogs.
Reaching the shore

I pull the boat up onto the bank
just when the firefly reflections
move further out over the water.

Friday Morning Addition: Below is a similar "prose piece"about fishing at dusk and fireflies. This was posted in my blog on July 18, 2005.

Fishing at Dusk

Granddad’s old Browning fly-rod, nine and a half feet, nicely lays the line out. Casting next to the lily pads, the fly drops just inches from the dark green leaves. In a second, the water swirls and I yank, as the line dives below. Pulling just enough on the line to keep the fish from getting it tangled in the lily pads, I work the fish. He comes to the surface, jumping completely out of the water before diving deep. “He’s a nice one,” I think. Keeping the line taut, I allow him to swim back in forth in the deep water, slowly luring him toward the canoe. He begins to tire and I pull him closer and into the net. He’s not as big as I’d thought, but still a nice fish. I remove the hook from his lips and gently place him back into the lake. Wasting no time, he dives deeply into the waters as I look around. The western sky is pink. The waxing moon hangs low in the southeast. Up in the meadows above the lake, fireflies light the night. It’s time to paddle back to the truck. Driving home, a firefly strikes the windshield. A final flameout, glowing green ooze slides down the glass slowly fading out.