The following is a parable; a tale told from the perspective of a wide-eyed wiggler…
A single shot of lead flew through the chilled, morning air that blanketed Hidden Lake. Landing on the quiet waters, it sunk rapidly to the bottom, dragging its thick yellow line to the edge of Barrows Ridge. Resting on the submerged rock ledge, a hidden hook floated harmlessly in the current. The lead sinker had hit its mark and now it was only a matter of time.
A night crawler watched with bulging eyes as a school of lake trout cautiously approached. Having endured the humiliation of being impaled on the rusty hook, it now braced for the inevitability of being eaten alive. What had it done to deserve such a cruel fate? Only hours before, under the cover of night, it had been resting in the wet grass of Merkel Miller’s front yard. It had been minding its own business. If only it had been more cautious; if only it had seen the young man hovering over it with a flashlight.
As a large rainbow trout closed in, the worm wriggled violently in order to free itself from the rigid metal hook; and then a miracle happened. With lightning speed, the night crawler was being pulled to freedom; whisked away from the jaws of certain death by the jerk of the yellow line.
Thankful for its rescue, the night crawler breathed in the morning air with great relief. Dripping wet, it peered down the long yellow line at the boy with a pole in his right hand. Inwardly, the worm was conflicted. The same young lad, who had pulled it violently from its hole, had now pulled it from the sharp teeth of the trout. Reluctantly, it forgave the lad for the offence that had placed it in such a precarious situation. Responding to a blood-cuddling scream, the worm spun around, just in time to see a red-tail hawk carrying a large fish back to its nest. It had buried its talons deep into the lake trout. Trashing about, the fish struggled in a vain attempt to break free from its crawled captor. One less of those to worry about, thought the worm.
The night crawler swung back around and saw a second boy walking up the shoreline.
“Giving up so soon?” asked Stephen.
“Ah, there’s nothing down there. I’m fishing in an empty hole.”
The night crawler looked in astonishment at the fisherman. If the boy with the pole in his hand had only seen what it had just witnessed on Barrows Ridge, he would have thrown the hook back into the placid waters of Hidden Lake.
So what’s the lesson? Leave a comment at bisbeesworld.org. If not, then I’ll see you next week.