Morning in the Garden

At Work in the Garden of Eat and Be Eaten
By Charles F. Tekula, Jr.

On dry land nothing’s moving yet,
still dark and cold.
But in the watery fields the feasting continues.
Bluefish dart like lightning in and out of the pods of bunkers
that themselves still strain the tiny swimming plankton,
even as their brethren are themselves devoured. Spider crabs wait for the pieces to fall, and then crawl through the waving eel grass
into my awaiting net for what they think is another free meal.

The big bass know.
But they’ve had their fill of the shiny finned and oily delights.
Another aroma draws them in. The spiders are shedding now,
it being early autumn.
And the still soft ones are like warm buttered muffins right out of the oven  to these bright eyed and stealthy hunters.
The fish that hit early on in the night have attracted a bevy of crustaceans to
my webbing, there to return the favor.

We who trek the land with our shod feet don’t face the constant threat of being eaten alive by our larger neighbors –
At least not literally.
We don’t rationally worry that bugs and birds will peck us apart if we sleep a bit too soundly.
And so we consume ourselves with these irrational fears. Like
the impending collapse of life on earth brought on by
the likes of my little gillnet boat.
More sensible parents wonder what to put on the dinner table ;
Prudent chefs wonder what they’ll find at their seafood supplier to grace the specials card tonight.
And if I get in early my wonderful bluefish, or weakfish or bass
might be the prey that answers their prayers.

But at this point in my own journey the hardest work of the day comes first.
The roughest leg of the day’s excursion is the trip from the bed to the floor.
Raisin Bran, weather websites and a cup of hot tea.
A prayer for a safe and successful morning, and I’m off to witness another sunrise over the Garden of Eat and be Eaten.