Gone Fishing
Gone Fishing A good man went fishing today. Picking up his rod and tackle, he walked the uphill path. Through the green tunnel of the old growth hardwood forest, Skeet could hear the rippling brook and see the light at the end the path. A good man was going fishing. He waded into rejuvenating water and cast his line skipping the fly into the still pool behind a rugged boulder. The streams’s cascading waters returning balance to his stance. A forgotten pep returned to his step as he waded along the rocks of the bubbling flow. The effects of aging washing away and youth returning to his footing and gait. As the warm sun peeked above the hardwood and cedar tree tops, a familiar silhouette appeared at the ox bow bend. Skeet rubbed his eyes and a smiled erupted across his face. There was a familiar fisherman on the water today. Decades of spring thaws have come and gone since he cast a line with the man on the river. Skeet was a young man again. He ran through the co...