Nessie

Swimming slightly below the opaque Loch
Ness waters, Nessie is barely discernable;
a darkish image, thin as a flute, hard to
detect, hard to make anything more
of than the blurry winding of some
exaggerated Scottish eel, long-
lived and adamant.

I like to think she
is a plesiosaur, some
relic of the past, some
dinosaur at home in the
cold loch waters, eager to
tantalize us, on occasion, by
shadowy hints, opting to be eyed,
now and then, yet remaining reticent
to photographs.  And I like to think she
is savviest of creatures, existing in our 21st
century Internet age, chary enough not to bolt
a long neck on the shore, nor flipper a motorboat
whereby she would be as conspicuous as a red shoe.
No, I like to think more of old Nessie than that.

I dare say no fish hook shall catch her, no, nor
any net, nor any trap devised by fisher-folk
or those so inclined to harm or cage the
beast.  And though I am declaring she
is a Plesiosaur, perhaps I am wrong;
she may be something else.

The hunt continues; man has always been a hunter.
Yet I think Nessie shall always be a hunter, too, in
that she succeeds in capturing our imagination. 
Perhaps she will always be a mystery in Loch
Ness--perhaps this is apropos.  Yet maybe
there is more: maybe she is a message in
a bottle, spanning time, connecting the
long, lost past with us, today, and we
are the lucky ones so privileged to
read the note.


37 Lines
Writer’s Cramp Winner
2-9-16
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Requirements:
--Loch Ness
--flute
--red shoe
--fish hook
--message
--bottle