Brook: (n) a small stream
It wasn’t large, and because it wasn’t tended well, it was usually overgrown.
But every once in a while I got an itch to go out and walk through the tall grass to a clearing where there was a high bank surrounding a brook.
The stream was not very impressive–probably about seven feet across at its widest place, and no more than a foot-and-a-half deep.
But it was usually clear–see right to the bottom.
One day I told my dad I was going to go fishing in the brook. He laughed at me, and explained that our little waterway would not sustain fish because there was no place for them to go.
After soaking my worm in the water for about an hour–to no avail–I realized he was right. I was about to give up when I sensed some movement in some nearby rocks.
It was a little fish.
I don’t know how he got there (or if he was a she). But he was obviously trapped, not knowing which way to go. Every time he swam forward he hit a rock, and every time he swam the other way, he bumped his nose on a stone.
He was literally caught between a rock and a hard place.
So for the next hour, I threw my hook and worm near him, hoping to draw the little fishie onto my rod and reel, so I could go back proudly and tell my dad he was wrong.
When the worm didn’t draw the fish’s attention, I attempted to reach in and grab him. He was very athletic and eluded my grasp.
I finally gave up.
I went to tell my dad to come and see the fish that was in our brook. He waited, puttered around, and finally made his way out to view my discovery.
The fish was gone.
I have no idea how that little blue gill figured out a way to escape his prison. But Nature always comes up with a plan.
Fish are not like us.
They don’t get frustrated, mad … and decide to hide out in their room.