The dramatic lighting she appeared within
alongside the avenue of my urban, evening amble captured my attention rather
unexpectedly, but I immediately and instinctively recognized her striking form
flaunted outwardly on display. In an
instant, my eyes poured over all of those perfectly-proportioned and pleasing curves
that would incite any of her spellbound admirers to wildly ogle accordingly alike. Unbelievable,
I thought with smiling surprise. So spectacular,
striking, and altogether startling. Dressed
to kill, I see. But, here? What were the chances,
I asked?
Not exactly as you were when
first your eye I eyed, but such seems your beauty still. I imagine she’ll always entertain that irresistible and overwhelming allure over me,
holding me entirely inescapable of anything but casting her attention and having
turned my head when I least expect it.
She was joined even by company clearly of a
haute-pedigree, albeit not heartbreakers from the familiarity of her own
neighborhood. I could tell. They were long and lean, seductive out-of-towners
that countless crazed men have tried their hands at reeling-in of capricious
affection, spending thousands, tens of thousands, even millions of dollars in a courting pursuit, all for the hope of
capturing a prize as fine-looking. They
were those of dreamy, exotic names like A.
Solandri, T. Albacares, Makaira, Istiophorus, Megalopidae, Coryphaena, or Carangidae. Who could blame them? As I understood it, their only curse was that
of being victims of adventure and ambition, as disposed, heart-throb casualties
of this most ancient disease of devotion.
But here she was, of all places, on the corner of 5th
&
58th
in mid-town Manhattan, dressed to the nines in a custom-fitted, sparkling
sequin skin, posing for everyone to admire - in a Bergdorf Goodman display
window! Her sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, although mine eye may
be deceived. Although she boasted no
laterally-running stripes or viridescent shoulders, clearly every running inch
and every scale of tile embodied that of the magnificently-admired Morone Saxatilis, from head to tail. Surprising,
on this bustling Saturday night in the heart of New York City’s concrete
jungle, she appeared naturally-poised in a luxury retail store’s eye-catching
exhibition, despite being mounted as an ornate and opulent rendition of various
Atlantic saltwater gamefish artistically depicted in an undersea, visual
offense of tiny tiles meticulously-laid in scaly hues of cerulean and seafoam
blue, silver, and copper. For whatever
reason, the Eastern seaboard’s Queen of
the Whitewater was decorated as a prop amid the imaginative staging of an
aquatic-themed spring clothing-line inspired by those impossibly-blue, bluewater-borne
delights of a shoreline swept solely by the swallowing Gulfstream. The island of Bermuda. Bergdorf’s colorful promotion of paradise.
For a moment, I stepped aside from the throngs of passersby’s
flooding this one sidewalk so I could look her down. I thought, although camouflaged in tile among
speedy, apex pelagics, this one brown egg among the eleven white is actually
right where she belongs. She was being
honored on the very ancient island of bedrock and glass and raised steel rooted
square in the middle of Morone’s-mecca,
one bisecting the mountainous descent of the Hudson’s headwaters into the briny
New York Bight. Her promotion of paradise, for all faraway islands and rocks and sands
she inhabits for consumers of Nature.
For us, the countless surfcasters, metropolitan and suburban and rural,
who offer seasonal homage to her presence in these very surrounding waters of
our chosen reaches. Beginning here, from this saturating artery of tidal-life
she seasonally swims and spawns, the river that flows two ways.
In a short month-and-a-half, or less, I’ll be
seeking her adoration, thinking of her day and night. Wading, waiting, and wondering. Hypnotized in daydreams over her portrait of perfection that hardly one can
deny as anything but sublime. Wooing for
her favor and courting pursuit, myself.
Again, I’ll find myself on the chase for her undying affection. On nighttime dates lit subtly by stars. Running my own ad campaign with hopes of attracting the sights of her
splashing exhibitions. And as the
season’s fashion’s change, so will my offerings. Adapting always, for more.
Bergdorf Saxatilis
Carangidae
T. Albacares
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