The old man came up the gravel path at a run.
Or a teetering trot, according to his grandson.
He was winded and could barely talk.
The last of the way, he slowed to a walk.
He had on his favorite old fishing hat,
That he always wore when he took that path.
He had been hollering for Maw the entire way
And when he reached her, he had plenty to say!
Maw stood on the porch and looked at that old man.
She had been baking pies and had flour on her hands.
In his excitement, he could barely stand still!
He clasped his hands and said he had a story to tell.
When mom’s attention was entirely on him
He took an excited breath to begin.
“I caught the big old fish! That son of a gun!”
He said with a smile, “You know, the big one?”
Maw thought, “Good! At last, that fish is dead
And Paw can get him out of his head.
Now, instead of spending his days on the lake shores
He could spend his time taking care of some chores.”
“Where is he?” Maw asks with all due pride.
“We’ll have him for dinner – bring him inside!”
But the old man became very still.
He got quiet, and his face paled.
He looked at the woman, years, his wife and friend.
Of all people, she should understand.
Stunned, he thought she should certainly know.
But he ducked his head and said, “I let him go.”
Carrie Bergener
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