Where has the fisherboy gone?

Where has the fisherboy gone? 

Dr Abe V Rotor

By the stream under a tree (wall mural detail) in acrylic by the author

By a stream on a rock ledge many a dream grew with the water flowing, the clouds rising, the breeze whispering in a nearby tree, its shade creating images of art and fantasy.

Hours lazily passed, but how short was a day fishing, from sunrise to noon and back again when the fish would return, the bamboo pole suddenly becoming heavy with a big catch.   

Other boys join the cheer, the louder the bigger the fish was, or fading with a whimper when it got away, and it was always "the big fish that got away," an adage of every fisher folk.

Away from town, away from school, away from home for a while - this freedom in innocence and adventure, the elders would call laziness, stubbornness and aimlessness in growing up.

Boys don't know the difference grownups want them to be, but wait for their own time, when childhood yields to the demands of the world, the world though big is "prison" to grownups. 

They too, were children before - the "man in the boy" comes later when there are no more big fish to catch, the tree has overgrown the rock ledge and other boys are longer around. 

Like birds migrating and returning, season after season in Vivaldi's refrain, and Mozart's lament, life goes on in rhythm, but time couldn't wait, while dreams sought for reality. 

There are many fish in the world, the biggest to catch always a dream - fame, ideas, wealth, sacrifice, honor, popularity - aiming at these to the end, in triumph, surrender or defeat. 

Years later a man in gray hair appeared, he saw a familiar boy fishing, his thoughts seemed far away, his fishing pole bending to his excitement, then snapped - it was the big fish that got away. ~