Who could believe the matter at hand,
wisp of cane, blue thread of light,
a golden hook hung with blood
and cast beneath the brimming sea?
Yet I waited on the magic,
at end of the endless pier,
grooved the pole between my toes,
traced words and faces on ocean’s edge,
jabbed at pincered sandworms
groveling blind in boxed seaweed,
numbered the waves lifting brightly,
breaking in the slatted dark below . . .
Line, cane, spine jerked tight. Nothing ...
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- Editors’ Note
Issue 29: Fishing with fathers, what we go out into the wilderness to see, and how Joy began to find Jesus. /
- Reeling from Joy in the Texas Bay
Fishing with my dad lends itself to all kinds of spiritual metaphors and benefits. But that’s not what keeps me casting. /
- Call of the Wilderness
The Desert Fathers saw it as faith’s testing ground. The Transcendentalists saw it as sanctuary. The Gospel writers had their own views. /
- The World’s Most Astonished Atheist
The bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki destroyed Joy Davidman’s worldview, too. /
- Wonder on the Web
Issue 29: Links to amazing stuff /
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