I caught this smallmouth bass at a little spillway, on a skinny river near my pad. Much bigger than the usual size of smallmouth I find there. Good enough to interrupt my poetry publications with.
What must a caught fish be thinking? I wonder if it’s similar to what some humams describe as alien abductions. Suddenly it’s being pulled upward and out of the water; to find a big biped looking back at it. It has to be weird.
Whatever it’s thoughts, (if any beyond instinctive) it carried them silently back into the storm muddied river where I found him.
Have a good weekend, my little fish friend. I hope your next meal is real.