Net Zero by Dave Rigby

A riverside seat.

Flask emptied, sandwiches finished,

Eyes closed for an early afternoon snooze,

Lulled by a Sibelius stream,

Delivered by ear pods,

Transporting me to Finnish lakes and forests.

The sun warms my face,

A breeze ruffles my hair,

Total relaxation until … a sudden splash.

Eyes open, the symphony stops.

A dog paddles slowly down river,

Its head just above the water,

Tail rudder-like,

Someone calling from a bridge in the distance,

“That’s far enough Archie!”

A natural symphony takes over,

A blackbird in the blackthorn,

Wind in the beech tops,

Water rushing over smooth pebbles, swirling in eddies.

A dipper doing what it says on the tin,

The heron statuesque on the far bank.

Eyelids start to droop again until,

The sound of a tinkling bell.

The line is taut!

A catch?

I grab the rod from its stand.

Too late! Whatever was there … isn’t now.

A whistling walker appears, all boots, rucksack and bonhomie.

“How much have you got in there, mate?”

Meaning the net.

Nothing at all I tell him.

“But it’s not really the point, is it.”