The light reached gently across the lake, a gentle lover’s kiss upon the surface.
Old gnarled hands guided small ones around an old beaten fishing pole. Casting the lure into the lake he whispered softly to the girl, “See there where the water bubbles, it’s the fish come up to greet the sun.”
The little girl watched, wide eyed, as her grandfather wrapped his arms around her in the early morning light, and spoke to her about how to draw the fishes to the end of her pole. Carefully taping on the pool he made the lure dance. He smelled of Winston Cigarettes and soap and leather. His bowline tie lay properly around his cowboy shirts collar. His leather boots creaked softly in the early morning wind.
It seemed to her as if the whole world were asleep with the exception of the sun, the fish and the two of them. Suddenly the pole leapt in her hand. Quickly he helped her reel the line in. “Easy now hun, don’t jerk on it to hard. Draw the fish in. There ya go.”
The excitement built in the little girl as the line danced and pulled along the water. With a mighty heave she pulled a silver dollar fish free. Her eyes grew wide as she delighted in the flash of silver light from the slick belly of the fish.
Turning she tore off through the camp site yelling at the top of her lungs, “Daddy I caught a PISH…I caught a PISH!” The poor “pish” bounced along helplessly in the dirt behind her.