epiphanies on a stream
An epiphany came that day, first time on a mountain stream. I heard a mighty whoop that echoed through the hills. A shout of joy, pure as air. My own voice had taken flight! A trout, caught on a fly, gills pulsing, lay in my glistening hands. He stared at me one-eyed and quivered, iridescent in the sun, speckled red and brown across a deeper field of golds. My wet fingers shook as I beheld his star-studded colors, layered as the heavens, a fourth dimension opened to my eyes. God-smacked; I blinked, holding back unaccustomed tears, this marvel of creation in my unworthy wrinkled hands. Mist and moment hung, rain-swollen stream rushed ‘round. How easily my weary legs could slip on wet and mossy rocks. My lungs as useless under water as his gills in thin mountain air. Each of us so fragile, hung on the mercy of the moment. I drew him in and kissed him and stroked his glorious scales. His deadpan eye held mine. Sides heaving, he awaited his fate. Will you take me? Give me back to the stream? I thanked my God for the vision, and sent him home. I yelled once more as he slipped beneath the foam, “Spec-tac-u-lar!” – and he was gone in a spray of rainbow. I cast my line downstream again, and a second epiphany came: six sullen faces in unison turned toward me from the river below. Silent as pines, gritting teeth against gathering chill, six joyless fishermen trained their cold-eyed glares my way. No cries of discovery, no grateful praise for the gift of fish held in hand, no happy witness to my moment. Once, they too had wonder. But––tangled in fly, leader and line, technique and perfect form–– their joy lay lifeless on the bank. I’ll not return to fish a stream nor reduce to habit such piercing beauty. Enough to have held a vision once and cried clamorous thanks to Heaven.
Raised between Cape Cod and Boston, Jayne Adams sought a familiar vibe wherever she lived. Finally, the SC lowcountry felt like home again. She began to unpack the joys of post-corporate life, which included time to write: Short Story America (Spring 2021) includes her “Token Collector”; 4 of her stories appear in an anthology being shopped, All That We See or Seem. Her non-fiction has been published in a Chicken Soup for the Soul volume (2019). Current projects include a novel-in-short-stories set in Boston, and a collection. “It’s thrilling to see my poetry in TPR!”