Fishing in Saskatchewan
A story about the non-locality of love
The funny thing about love is that no one knows where it comes from.
Trees and little insects, rocks and mud, too, feel it.
Clouds are awash in love, but, because they’re cruising thousands of feet high, we just don’t hear anything about it.
One time I decided to fall in love, but I forgot to tell anyone about it.
I figured the world has got enough problems without my getting involved.
My girlfriend disagreed with me, though. (She always does.)
“John, you should tell everyone!”
“Florence, you’re just being optimistic again…”
“And you’re not?”
“No, really, I’ve decided to be pessimistically in love.”
“I knew it. What other crazy ideas do you have?”
Well, if I told her every crazy idea that presents itself to me, she really would leave me for sure.
“John, sweetie, I didn’t leave when you decided to elope with a cloud,” she reminded me.
It’s true! My girlfriend stayed with me even then! And that fickle cloud just blew away, anyway. Last I heard, she was in Canada, fishing.
You didn’t think clouds can go fishing. Admit it. But the next time you fly through one, just close your eyes,
And let the sunfish sing,
swimming so quietly
through Caribbean waters,
next to a reef
With all its colors.
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Sure, clouds go fishing! They don’t have jobs. They don’t play video games…
“John, you idiot!” Florence reminded me. “They have the hardest job in the world!”
“And what’s that? You’re always ruining my enchanting lines.”
“It’s because you’ve got this strange idea of being pessimistically in love!” she let me know.
“But, sweetie, you know it always sucks in the end. You think you’ve got it all, and then your lover just takes a cloud to Saskatchewan and leaves you wondering…”
“Where it all came from.”
“And where it’s going.”
“Saskatchewan, John. And I hear the fishing’s good.”
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© “John” Lesly Levin 2022
