Leaves on The Water

Yesterday evening I went to the riverside for a walk.

It was early autumn,
a mild and slightly sunny evening.
Rare brownish-yellow leaves fell down.
Several wild children were playing noisy and cheerfully.
A few young people having beer on a bench, swearing loudly.
An old white lady with a badger-dog walking sadly.

And there was a fisher there on the bank.

Sitting in an uncomfortable folding chair,
wearing old clothes of uncertain color.
A large jacket, high rubber jackboots.
In a black knitted cap,
having a big plastic bucket
and a grayish bag at the side on the ground.

He paid no attention at me or anyone else.

I couldn't see his face. It was no object.
He was sitting still,
watching the float, smoking leisurely.
Sitting still,
watching attentively, smoking leisurely.
Not a single odd move, no odd word, no odd thought.

Only quick ripples made difference between the water and sky.

The sun moved lower and lower into a haze.
The evening turned blue and cold.
Mist started raising over the water.
He kept watching the float.
I kept watching him.
And it seemed to me someone was watching us,

meanwhile the yellow-brown leaves were falling down on the water...