In my blog, I refer to my older son as The Angler, and he comes by this name honestly. The first activity that he showed any real interest in (at age 3) was fishing, and seventeen years later, it still occupies most of his free time. Thought I’d post a little photo history, as well as a poem he wrote in high school about his favorite pastime.
I become one
with the outdoors in the morning.
I sit atop a stool
at the lake’s edge
listening, watching, waiting, and dreaming.
I clench the rod and reel in my hands,
watching the bobber drift slowly.
Neither I nor dad dares to break the silence
as dawn intrudes in the quiet scenery.
I watch like a hawk as the sun shines
and its reflection glistens in the water,
bringing back memories of when I was small.
I feel a tug on the line and reel it in;
with patience and care I hoist my prize
from the cool, clear water
as my dad smiles and gazes upon it thoughtfully.
I pause for a moment
before releasing this fine creature back to its home,
As I let it go, I realize that this too is a memory,
a priceless feeling that will stay with me forever.