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October 8, 2001 deef the fish DEEF THE FISH That's what the lettering on the marina's fish food dispenser spelled.  All of us saw it:  The Judge, as righteous a man who ever lived;  Mike, the one I'd choose to share my foxhole when the shit comes down;  "Kohler," the tortured, hilarious host;  the Fed who cared about me when I did not;  and Gulbuth The Rampant, the thorn-cocked wiseacre.  All of us stared at the message like True Believers.  Like we were seeing the face of Jesus in a bean burrito. On some level we understood that an error had been made, that things hadn't turned out as planned.  But we stared nonetheless silently searching for hidden meaning.  We hoped a divine voice would issue from the dispenser's opening.  Some of us wanted answers to questions.  Others needed questions to answer. But, in the end, we realized that some things just are.  That peace can be achieved through acceptance of the obvious.  That a message without meaning is a message nonetheless.  We understood full well our charge. So we went forth to deef the fish.

©  2001 by the beastmaster