Tag: short stories

The Fisher-Men

Color Photography
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Hello Friends! Tonight’s Feature Image is titled “Driftwood 32619” and is available for purchase by following the contact instructions at the bottom of the article

Sunshine dances on the water and gives the appearance that stardust has settled on the river. Bare toes cautiously explore the pebbles beneath the surface as an older sibling teases that the crawdads like to hide on the bottom and bite toes. The boys dug around under the rocks and driftwood until one of them finds the lost jig embedded in a piece of driftwood. They know its a good one because there is hardly any rust. There is just enough line still attached for a leader.

The boys hit upon the I idea that if they can catch enough fish for dinner that mom and dad would have to admit that are men now. Excitedly, they search the river bank and find enough discarded line to make a go of it. The oldest boy ties a section of line to a large piece of oak bark he found floating on the waters edge. Because they knew better than to make a splash. The boys hung the jig from the bark and pushed it out into water like a toy sail boat. A long stick gave them a little extra pushing power for a longer float time. Taking turns with one of them pushing the makeshift fishing boat out and the other one slowly reeling it back in by winding the line around short forked stick that was also plucked from the river. After some time with no action the boys decided that they need to do something different to make the fish bite. What they need was to make it more like real food.

The older boy jammed the forked stick into the muddy river bank and lead his brother back to camp for bread and peanut butter from the camp supplies. If a good o’l Peanut butter sandwich couldn’t make the fish bite then nothing would work. They hadn’t noticed the old man sitting behind the bulrush just a few yards away. He had listened to every word that passed between the boys as they made their plans to enter into manhood by proving to be successful fishermen. As soon as they were out of sight he cast his own line across their’s and drew their makeshift rig into the rushes. He carefully removed the largest Bass from his own stringer. He waited until he saw the boys return with their peanut butter sandwich bait and hooked his catch onto their rigging. The large bass revived and pulled the bark float out away from the bank just in time for the boys to see the line go tight. They ran to the forked stick and began to wind in the line as fast they could. To their joy they found the biggest fish they’d ever seen in their short lives on the other with the jig planted firmly in it’s jaw.

In celebration they split the sandwich and carried the large bass on the end of the line high in the air. Their little hearts swollen with pride. The old man gathered the remaining fish he had caught; climbing over the bank, he realized that he hadn’t quite remained as unseen as he thought. Looking up noticing his wife of fifty years at the top. She had seen the whole thing from the finding of the jig by two young boys to the sacrifice of a trophy bass by her husband. “I believe that was the big one that you’ve been after for ten years. Wasn’t it?” she beamed as she spoke. “Yup” was his only reply. “Why?” she queried. “Well”, he replied, “I will always know what it felt like to catch the big one. It’s something that I will never forget and neither will they. She realized that passing on his passion to the young boys was a far better trophy than anything he could ever hang on the wall of his den.

It’s been said that if you give a man a fish you can feed him for the day but if you teach a man to fish then you feed him for a lifetime. Occasionally, both are possible.

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First Date

black and white photography

As the evening sun hangs it’s sleepy head the well worn tracks light up and draw the soul into the West. He stops at home just long enough to shower and change clothes and pull that special envelope out from inside the stereo speakers. He doesn’t really own any fancy attire. A pair of pants that aren’t ripped or faded. One of two button up shirts and the boots that he only wears on Sunday morning to Church. The socks don’t really matter as long as they’re clean. The clock on the wall says that it’s fifteen minutes after six but it’s always about three minutes slow. He checks his pockets one last time before grabbing the keys off the chest of drawers and heading out of the door in a rush. The rusted old truck grinds and sputters. Laying his head on the steering wheel in frustration he mutters “Please Lord. Not tonight” and he turns the key again. The engine has three hundred thousand miles on it, but it roars to life. He drives parallel to the tracks and heads into the city. The parking lot is crowded but he finds a spot out on the edge and pulls in. A cinder block serves as a parking break. He pauses for moment at the door and checks to make sure that he has the envelop full of cash and that he didn’t get any dirt on his clothes while “setting the brake”. As soon as he steps inside the restaurant he spots her in the corner pretending to read the menu as she waits nervously hoping that he shows up. She’s in that little black dress. She spent hours making sure that she looked her best but all he notices is that special sparkle in her perfect eyes that lets him know how she feels. The envelope holds every penny that he could save up for two weeks but it’s money well spent. Their first date is going to be perfect.

Hello Friends and thank you for your support of my page. If you have enjoyed the photos or the writings please let me know by commenting and sharing my work on your social media. Please also consider following Lloyds Lens Photography on Facebook. If you don’t want to miss a post then you can sign up for email alerts on the bottom of Welcome Page.

Tonight’s Feature Image is titled “Heading West” and is available for purchase by contacting me on Facebook or by using the Contact Form on my website.

4X6- $5.00

5X7 – $10.00

8X10- $15.00

(Some cropping may be necessary )

The Best Laid Plans

Color Photography, Thoughts and Musing

Patiently she sat in the meadow waiting for her turn. She dreamed of the day that her opportunity would come. She made lists and organized. Everything was ready. She only needed a chance. She wrote herself letters and kept them in a journal. Each on starting with the words “To my future self…” She kept all her plans stacked neatly in a box so that everything would be perfect once her opportunity arrived. She never got stressed out by the wait. She kept faith. Each morning she walked to the little meadow by the road and waited. She was there as sun rose and when the sun set on the opposite horizon. Sometimes the wind would come and she had to hold on so tightly to her little box of plans that her knuckles would turn white but she was fierce and prevailed against the wind. Other days the rain fell so hard that the meadow seemed to become a lake but still she would not be defeated. She held her little box of plans high above her head so they would not be washed away. When the snow and ice came the fire in her heart blazed brightly and once more her little box of plans remained secure. Nothing could rob her of her dreams. She was strong and beautiful and determined. She only lacked one crucial element. The opportunity she waited on never came to this meadow. And she waits there still.

We can have the best laid plans.

We can have the heart of a lion.

We can have all the faith in world.

And, we can have too much patience when waiting for an opportunity instead of traveling beyond our comfort zone and creating the opportunity ourselves.

Living is an action word. It might be difficult to know which action is the right one but inaction is the wrong state of being. Sure, timing is important. But time is also fleeting. Don’t wait too long. Do something every day to achieve at least a little piece of your goal. That’s how progress is made.

The Sacrifice Of A Friend

Color Photography, Fiction Story

I have a fondness for the Corvus family. Today the crow and raven are associated with darkness and death but I want to share a different perspective.

The Leni Lenape tell the story of the Rainbow Crow. I have not been told the story from any tribal elders etc. In fact, I only learned the legend with the invention of the internet. So with no further ado here is story as I understand it…

The sun seem to sleep a lot over the past few years. The days were dim and short and the night was long, cold and dark. As the chieftain walked through the village the sadness of his people rested on his spirit like a heavy stone. He had tried everything. All of wisdom of his grandfathers, all of the prayers in his lodge and long lonely nights in forest seeking a vision that would tell him what to do. He couldn’t even sit at the council for the crying of the hungry children. He paused for a moment beneath a large spruce tree and began to sob. Then, he heard a rustling is the branches above. It was his friend the crow of many colors that had come to check on him. The crow was magnificent with feathers that shimmered with every hue in the rainbow. He loved the people and he loved the chieftain. The crow tried his best to cheer up his friend by singing in his most beautiful voice. It had always worked in past. The chieftain would smile and forget his troubles for little while. But tonight’s sadness the worst it had ever been. Moving down to a lower branch the crow opened his mouth and once more that beautiful melodic voice came out. “I have never not been able to make you smile my friend. What troubles your soul and how can I be a friend for you?” The chieftain took a breath and began to unload his burdens. He told the rainbow crow of the hungry children and the sickness of the old ones. “If the cold does not end soon my people will fade away forever. ” spoke the chieftain.

The rainbow crow knew in his heart what must be done. He would undertake a journey to the council of the creator and plead on behalf of the people. The journey was long and dangerous. The rainbow crow flew nonstop for many days and nights. When he found the creator he begged for him to end the winter and save the people he loved. The creator agreed and as a token gesture he gave a burning branch to the crow and instructed him to give fire to the people so that they could be warm again. The rainbow crow took the fire in his beak and made the long trip back to the chieftain and his people. He found the chieftain still sulking under the large tree. As he landed, the rainbow crow laid the fire at the chieftain’s feet. In his excitement at finding a way to save the people he tried to speak but the smoke from the fire had destroyed the crow’s beautiful voice and his magnificent feathers were singed black forever.

The chieftain was able to save the people he served as a result of rainbow crow and his sacrifice. So, always after the people would leave food out for the crow and he was always welcomed in the village.

The Sacrifice Of A Friend

Color Photography, Fiction Story

I have a fondness for the Corvus family. Today the crow and raven are associated with darkness and death but I want to share a different perspective.

The Leni Lenape tell the story of the Rainbow Crow. I have not been told the story from any tribal elders etc. In fact, I only learned the legend with the invention of the internet. So with no further ado here is story as I understand it…

The sun seem to sleep a lot over the past few years. The days were dim and short and the night was long, cold and dark. As the chieftain walked through the village the sadness of his people rested on his spirit like a heavy stone. He had tried everything. All of wisdom of his grandfathers, all of the prayers in his lodge and long lonely nights in forest seeking a vision that would tell him what to do. He couldn’t even sit at the council for the crying of the hungry children. He paused for a moment beneath a large spruce tree and began to sob. Then, he heard a rustling is the branches above. It was his friend the crow of many colors that had come to check on him. The crow was magnificent with feathers that shimmered with every hue in the rainbow. He loved the people and he loved the chieftain. The crow tried his best to cheer up his friend by singing in his most beautiful voice. It had always worked in past. The chieftain would smile and forget his troubles for little while. But tonight’s sadness the worst it had ever been. Moving down to a lower branch the crow opened his mouth and once more that beautiful melodic voice came out. “I have never not been able to make you smile my friend. What troubles your soul and how can I be a friend for you?” The chieftain took a breath and began to unload his burdens. He told the rainbow crow of the hungry children and the sickness of the old ones. “If the cold does not end soon my people will fade away forever. ” spoke the chieftain.

The rainbow crow knew in his heart what must be done. He would undertake a journey to the council of the creator and plead on behalf of the people. The journey was long and dangerous. The rainbow crow flew nonstop for many days and nights. When he found the creator he begged for him to end the winter and save the people he loved. The creator agreed and as a token gesture he gave a burning branch to the crow and instructed him to give fire to the people so that they could be warm again. The rainbow crow took the fire in his beak and made the long trip back to the chieftain and his people. He found the chieftain still sulking under the large tree. As he landed, the rainbow crow laid the fire at the chieftain’s feet. In his excitement at finding a way to save the people he tried to speak but the smoke from the fire had destroyed the crow’s beautiful voice and his magnificent feathers were singed black forever.

The chieftain was able to save the people he served as a result of rainbow crow and his sacrifice. So, always after the people would leave food out for the crow and he was always welcomed in the village.