casting our nets~

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it is a lone fisherman who casts his net. 
flings it to the wind. 
trusts it to the universe or god or whomever is waiting there in the leap. 


it is the casting off, the tossing, that allows for a catch. 
that creates a possible connection.  
that invites a gathering where there would have remained


solitude. 

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 what is gathered in your net will always be a mystery of the deep.
what finds its way into the gossamer threads (that are meant to be hard to see. subtle.) cannot be predicted. but what is "caught" will be the treasure of all treasures... as long as you see it that way. 


perhaps you will stumble in a tangle of netting and land in a foggy spot, but find small flowers you'd have otherwise missed. 

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perhaps your net will serve as a ladder helping you to climb to heights previously imaginable. and from that height you'll find the soft first flowers of spring, or the softer nose of a new friend. 

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perhaps you'll dangle from the threads of your net, and feel the pull (gravity or centrifugal), the tug at the heart, and you'll hold on for dear life. hold on for clear living. 

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or perhaps~

if you're lucky, you'll find the net wrapped around you. holding you up. holding you close. 

as close as the breath of your mother, whispering answers to you. 

as close as fog brushing the skin.

closer than a best friend. 

closer than a held hand. 

even closer. 

your very own net.