I fish this bay all morning.
High clouds cap me, a light breeze
tickles the water’s skin.
Fall’s green-brown leaves shade the shore.
By noon, no fish. I lean
over the gunwale staring into the water.
I cannot see past my own reflection,
rippled by clouds & salt.
I do not notice the water’s spasm
20 feet away—
not the quick bright splash of scup or blue,
but silent muscular surface turbulence,
a ribbed intimation of mighty motion below.
The sky does not speak, nor the sea talk.
Mirrors, they breathe images
in the cadenced wash of pure extension.
Face to face with our future,
we cannot see the whale
who will swallow us whole.
—Bob Fauteaux
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
Make your Fall Campaign gift now using the button below.
If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact Giovanni Del Piero, Director of the Editor’s Circle, at gdelpiero@firstthings.com or 212-627-1985.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Why the Death Penalty Is a Sore Point for Papal Authority
Pope Leo XIV marked World Day Against the Death Penalty, observed on October 10, with the following…
The Myth of St. Francis
At the beginning of his 2020 encyclical, Fratelli Tutti, Pope Francis speaks of “an episode in the…
Job and Her
It is said that Job lost everything, but she has lost more. All her possessions—the money, the…
