Why Do We Go Fishing?

Why do we go fishing?

Sometimes I’m not sure.

Mud encases the soles of our shoes as we trek to our spot,

swatting flies, gnats, and mosquitos away is just the warmup,

walking with stealth isn’t always worth it,

The first cast, not that great,

the second, not any better,

the third, why am I even here?

Glancing over at my husband in his own big world, I try to see what he sees.

My casts improve, slowly,

very slowly,

the line in a rhythm while in the air,

my shoulders and neck become relaxed,

like someone rested a hand on them,

my eyes focus on the fly’s journey,

through the air,

back and forth,

landing back in the water,

my hands back in a harmony they understand,

my breaths are calm and slow,

like the fish I want to bait,

my mind drifts like the creek,

forking and rushing through the rocks,

swirling in the eddy we cast to.

As the sun drops,

the creek shows the dark picture of the trees above it,

is anything staying still?

As still as a movement can be.

My wonder turns down the creek,

the trees, creek, sky,

they’re all one color now,

my ears only hear the soft “goodnight” from the birds,

and the frequent cricket or frog bellow,

the fireflies blink as to be the opener for the stars,

the fish we were trying to catch,

just tease us on the surface,

as to say, “ we’ll see you another time.”

Reeling in an empty line,

I look up at the trees,

it’s as if they grew 50 feet since we arrived,

Did they get taller?

Did everything get louder?

Did the fireflies get brighter?

Did the creek get longer?

Or did I just get smaller?

I know why we go fishing.