The Bridge


Heading for the Camp Sherman post office I noticed an inconspicuous sign at the Metolious River Bridge: View Fish Here. I saw nothing in frigid water. As I turned to go a young family approached from the opposite direction. I waited.

“There they are,” shouted the ten-year-old boy.

Following his finger I saw nothing. The reflection was wrong. I waited, and then I stepped to where the boy had stood. Nothing!

“There they are,” he shouted from where I’d been.

That idiot kid is jerking me around, the idiot kid. When they moved I returned to position one. Nothing! A squeak distracted me. The kid was beside me.

“There they are. They’re blue,” he said, pointing

As if by magic I saw five in all. I grunted at the kid, but secretly I was grateful I didn’t have to ask him what a fish looked like.

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