A plaque memorializing the legacy of a fallen-fisher was dedicated
onto a riverside bench in Sea Bright waiting for the interest of all and any. However firm at rest, its concrete frame and cemented foundation didn't stand a chance at surviving through the raging
and ruinous night that was October 29, 2012.
I never
met Joe. I'd like to imagine he was a
fine, elderly man who awarded those he met with a warm and anesthetic sense of
kindness, impressed time with nostalgic, neighborly manners, perfect strangers a
welcoming smile, and as a angling companion, one who interrupted silence on the
water with his many tales of bygone fish stories. Eras of time I can only envision in colors
sepia or black & white. Lazy days of
his youth that swept by like the tide rolling before his feet, off to the
depths of elsewhere, but always seen to return with the memorable clarity of
hope in existence. The water he knew, as
another returning flood of churning prosperity.
His presence before it, as the life-giving indulgence to intercept,
wrangle, and reel-in another tail. And
with that, another tale, from Joe.
May we
all, one day, be judged as big enough to keep.
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