In the cool, crisp, morning hours,
He takes himself to the riverside.
It’s an old familiar routine,
One that fills his soul with happiness.
Among the due covered brush,
Just a few inches up the incline,
He whips his favorite fishing pole
back over his right shoulder.
With perfection, precision, and ease,
His whole existence dances
Guiding the line to
The desired location, hoping for
The day’s lunch.
Months and years
Of trial and error,
A few poles gone with the current,
Accidental stumble into water,
He’s been so patient with himself.
This was his time.. where he found answers
And sometimes more confusion…
Where he allowed himself to
Because, after all, he’s
Only human, and, well,
Written for New 2 Writing’s Weekly Prompt 🙂