i cast the line out,
trying to get that perfect roll,
where it lays out just so,
and it looks like the fly on the end just fell there,
presenting itself to the creature lying in wait,
just out of sight.
i start to pull back on the line.
swiftly moving,
the strike comes,
the line goes taught,
the weight on the other end pulls
and i hang on to pull it in.
and the sheer joy on her face
reminds me that it's the simple things
that matter most,
a simple act of playing a game,
with a rumble-tumble ball of fur
who brought me her string this morning,
so i could go fishing for kittens in my living room.