Hurting for the cold dawn, pink ripples cold fingers wet with lake sheared from his thin line Big Fish Big Fish following his daredevil retrieve the nagging whine the singing of his reel figure eight at the side of the boat a flash, a glimmer he dreams he would stand up in the boat dive into the cold water and become a fish
This is an oldie. I've been too happy the last 15 years. Now it's time to write again.