• A new day
    I look out towards it;
    the water.
    It's clear
    and it's shores are bare.
    Theres nobody out there today.
    I look across my room
    for my instrument;
    what I use to catch
    the inhabitants of the water.
    It's clean.
    Hasn't been used in a while.
    It moves slightly under a breeze.
    and almost seems to cry.

    I feel the water around my feet.
    It's cool, and welcoming.
    The rod in my hands is weighted
    but is a familiar feeling
    that I've missed.
    The rod;
    it's nothing fancy
    unlike those new ones
    that others have.
    Mine is wood;
    pine, with an old bobber,
    and a handmade weight.

    I raise my hands up:
    the rod is baited, and ready.
    I let it fly
    long, and far.
    minutes pass
    and all is quiet.
    I don't move, though.
    In this game
    moving earns a foul.
    It's a waiting game.
    There!
    A nudge, a jerk
    and my bobber is consumed
    by the water around it.
    Another jerk; but I pull against it
    and grin.
    The battle has begun.