SKYWATER

 

Here in Texas we call it skywater, water that literally falls from the sky, and we haven't had any since May - until this afternoon. It began slowly, tentative drops patterning the sidewalk, please don't stop, then picked up pace.

Astounded, I stood on the porch, looking out in wonder. Wow, actual rain, you could see it, and with the skywater came thunder, lightning and a sudden drop in temperature. Beautiful.

Then it stopped, but for how long. Even now, dark clouds are rolling in from the West; will they break and unleash a cataclysmic storm upon this small heat stricken country town? 

Here at the Compound we watch and wait, expectant.

Eschaton,

LSP

Labor Day Fishing

It was beautifully cool at a refreshing 27 degrees, clouds were rolling in with the promise of blissful rain and the time seemed right to go Labor Day fishing.

So cast off into the depths with a tried and tested worm rig, twitch it along and wait for action. But there was no action, just the occasional turtle diving about and one or two sluggish, non-committal tugs at the line. 

A couple of boats pulled into the cleaning station and they hadn't done well either, not a good day for the guides, and taking that as an omen I upped rods and headed to another spot. Maybe that would produce the goods.

It didn't. The fish were obviously on strike, swimming out in solidarity with international labor. OK, several refused to be brainwashed by Boshevik agitprop and took snatching runs at the hook but only to fall back in red cowardice to the aquatic barricades. I couldn't close the deal.

Then it began to rain and catching fish didn't seem to matter any more. God had sent life giving water from the sky to ease and refresh spirits parched and arid from the never ending funeral rites of the most heroic patriot that ever lived anywhere in the world ever.

Uplifted by this gift from heaven, I left the piscine Marxists to their aquatic skulduggery and headed back to the Compound. But not to worry, this match ain't over.

Fish on,

LSP