Standing on the rocks,

looking upstream,

I am mesmerized by the rushing water.

 

Water tumbling over submerged boulders,

crashing into them, cascading over them,

splashing, tumultuous, alive with energy.

 

Water flowing under the overhanging trees.

touched by their branches,

but never slowed, never taken off course.

 

Water eddying, taking a break before rushing on,

calm, still, silent,

covered in water bugs and sticks and things.

 

Standing on the rocks,

looking up at the branches overhead,

the sky blue through the leaves,

the birds hoping to steal my catch.

 

But all I’ve caught is those branches.

Again.

 

Standing on the rocks,

I look up at my fishing line,

tangled and dangling from the branch overhead.

 

I set my rod down on the rocks,

scramble to the tree trunk once more,

climb the tree and out onto the branch once more,

retrieve my line and hook once more.

 

Sitting on the rocks,

looking upstream,

rod idle at my side,

I smile.

 

I love fishing.