The bite of cool morning
air gives way to a new day's fiery glow on the horizon as sounds and smells of the
surf fill the senses and purges the last bit of grogginess that the
morning coffee missed. The sound of flotsam crunching underfoot is the only sound out of cadence with the waves
that erase the sandy footsteps of a lonely walker, a hunter without spear or gun but only a wand of graphite and a box full of deception
walking the tide-line between yesterday, today and tomorrow for a few hours of peace
by the sea.
Soon, our faithful fusion reactor in the sky graces our hemisphere,
leaving the other half to the moon's whim for a while. The
transition gives us a few precious moments of scarlet sand dunes and shimmering pink waters against
soft-gray/blue skies and waving dune grasses, all dancing in homage to the glowing red rhythm maker of our world
as it makes it's grand entrance onto the stage of a new day.
As others sleep, moan and turn their eyes away from the newborn day, we cast, strip-strip, cast and strip
again, eyes vibrant from the snap of the ocean air at dawn.
On our lines we offer creations from our vises and our minds that
express our understanding of this place, achieved only after years of such mornings, and
in the wake of mountains of bucktail trimmings and feather bits floating about
a room in a quest to personify a silverside vision or a bunker breakthrough.
At the union of sand, sky and sea we test our theories and luck until
suddenly hypothesis and reality collides in a thud and the drag screeches
out to ring in the first brute bass of the season. It's a bright
and boldly striped submarine, full of early season spirit and fight. The
hunger and cravings through the long winter are sated by the broad spread of fins and tail surfacing
in the waves as the battle rages. At the shore, a mighty tail slap
and a frothing thrust as the magnificent fish swims free. With a deep
breath, a realization surges through the veins... spring and her stripers have finally
Juro Mukai, FORUM Writer's