t’was the hour of rising,
my wife in bed, the babe asleep
and my work had begun before the light had slipped above the horizon.
my nets in hand, spear in another,
calloused as the bark that washed on the gravel
I settled myself into the rhythm of the day;
but I was to be blessed that day, as was the wishes of the gods
the sandy bar of my home away from home
was occupied by an old man, sunk halfway into the edge of the river
harmless and quiet, he appeared no fiend
and as I neared, he beckoned me to him.
‘If ye should catch but one more fish than I,
I shall grant you the ability to never lose a catch.’
and lo and behold, he revealed to me his true nature
the patron of my trade, a blessing to those who have good fortune
and so we sat, whiling the day away
what does one say to an immortal?
prod fun all ye want, but we spoke about the weather
and the upcoming spring.
and when the sun began to sink
he counted his basket and I mine
and I was half a head more than him
and smiled and blessed me, and wished me a fair evening
and to this day I have not seen him again,
but we have never gone hungry since.