PAUSE TO REFLECT

Walking across a new plowed field
fishing rod and lure box in my hand.
What might on this trip be revealed
as I cross this ancient piece of land
on the way to my fishing hole?

The new dirt has a bit of crust
from hard rain a few days ago
and it's colored a deep shade of rust.
Bad knees make my progress slow
unlike when cartilige was whole.

Three or four steps then look around
judging distance to small pond's shore
and a few glances at the ground.
I see some deer crossed here before
on their way to that wooded knoll.

A few more yards, a change in soil
now a narrow band of rocky gray.
I pause again in midst of toil
to let the knee's ache fade away
then smile at a hill left by a mole.

On that mole hill, a flash of white.
I bend to the stone and pick it up,
a quartz spear point lit by sun's light
now rests in my old palm's cup,
a reward for this morning's stroll.

My head rises to look around
and I see this place as years ago
before a plow ere touched this ground
when only oaks and pines would grow
providing duff for questing vole.

Back then a warrior came this way
likely hunting buffalo or deer.
He'd hurled his spear and made his play
then missed and lost this stone point here.
On quartz time took but minor toll.

I rub my thumb along the cutting edge
then pocket the point, I came to fish.
Soon I'm at the water's nearer edge
listening to my fly line swish
already a good day for my soul.