I’ve learned that positive results are achieved by one’s careful preparation, willingness and drive to strive.
Then a little something kicks in,
An equilibrium between our surroundings and those said positive attributes,
A cultivated poise,
But to us, anglers, a graceful sweeping gesture with aerobatic ramifications.
A self-contradicting thought suddenly occurs,
That it wasn’t at all ours to demand or expect,
That this moment is but a gift,
And that if catching a fish is a gift,
Then so too is catching the last ray of light streaming the peak of the tallest pine casting our shadow on a mirror like surface.
Transfixed by the very odd chance of being able to enjoy this very moment,
In the end admitting that it wouldn’t of mattered if you had caught a fish,
So long as you’re indebted by this view, the crackling sounds and the smells of an old boat house.
Anglers are but grateful beggars,
We beg for the never ending hour glass and lady luck to be on our side,
Nothing more,
Nothing less.
