Sorry, here goes another long post. Please read it!
There is this place on the Chesapeake Bay, Lynnhaven Inlet. It can be loaded with fish, sometimes. I would fish there both inside the inlet and outside near the mouth. All hours of the day or night. Many times I would prefer night fishing. So peaceful, cool(er) night air. Fucking paradise. Not to go off the deep end, no pun intended, I have thought that if and when I die, that is the place. Wherever I die, that is where my ashes will go. Anyway. They've now built a metered parking lot, bathrooms, draws all kinds of riffraff. The way it used to be many moons ago, parking was crushed shells and sand. The area was filled with Southern Live Oak. Knarly trees that have weathered many a hurricane. The bridge there entering the inlet had a sign warning of fast current, with a grim reaper, and how many who have lost their lives there given the swift current. Beautiful sand, peaks and valleys, like little circus tents all along the beach. The stars above. In mid December, cold as a witch's titty, gusty winds, the Striper schools would run through there feet from the shore. Casting over and over without a care in the world, not even if you caught a fish, which often you would. Limit was 2 striper, nailing it. It was awesome. Paradise. Sometimes for the first 1-2 hours the world still weighed heavy. But eventually peace would come, I could stay out there forever. Not a care in the world.
Now, there is this dude from Minnesota, way out in the middle of the country far from Lynnhaven Inlet, or any ocean for that matter. The guy's name is Robert Zimmerman, better known as Bob Dylan. He wrote a song I had heard probably a million times, I always thought it was maybe a bit corny, almost nursery rhymish. The song is called Mr Tambourine Man. I was never necessarily a huge fan, but I started listening more carefully. His writing spoke to me. I mean really spoke to me. How, how did that guy from Minnesota know?...talk about singing my life with his words.
Take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind. Through the foggy ruins of time. Far past the frozen leaves, the haunted frightened trees, onto the windy beach, far from the twisted reach, of crazy sorrow. Yes to dance beneath the diamond skies with one hand waving free, silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands, with all memory and fate, driven deep beneath the waves. Let us forget about today until tomorrow.
Crazy world, man. Crazy world.