Behind This Gate
A friend of mine lives behind this gate. I drop in from time to time just to hear and experience his philosophy on life. He calls himself a professional fisherman but I don't think he ever goes fishing, even though he has this old fishing boat that he named “Friend Ship.” He has a challenging mind to understand and always has on one of those lightweight fishing shirts with his name printed across the pocket, underscored by the words “Professional Fisher Man.”
On this morning he was casting this green shad looking lure across his swimming pool. “Just Practicing,” he called out as I stepped through the gate.
I remember the first time we met. I was out for my morning walk when I passed him near this new house that was being framed by a Mexican crew. The south of the border music was so loud you could hear it from a block away.
As we approached each other, he said, “Hi” and I responded, “Not very are you?” He smiled of course and then he commented on the loud music…
“Does it make you want to pull your hair out?”
"No, but it does make me have an appetite for Tortilla Soup.”
So off we went and enjoyed a bowl of Tortilla Soup, more dark beer than we needed and became good friends.
The line he left me with this morning as I walked toward the gate… "Hey Doc, have you heard that my son went off to become a Buddhist Monk?”
I smiled and waved behind my head, knowing he only has two daughters…I Think?… To this day, I have never seen him go fishing...Doc
When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
And shout from where I am, 'What is it?'
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit… Robert Frost
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