The Fish Pier

In March when the alewife are running through the Canal toward their spawning streams they are chased by meter long and razor toothed blues and sea bass. In March, at dawn, the topside of this fishing pier is crowded with fishermen, standing shoulder to shoulder, casting and reeling in and casting again in hopes of hooking one of those blues or one of those bass. But today, in mid-February, I alone am here beneath the pier to greet the rising of the sun.