Back Country Fishing Poem

A six hour drive to be outdoors, the peaceful sounds of nature,
Sleeping in an old converted school house,
The night is dark, and I sleep in the quiet escape.

Morning brings the chilled air blowing off the lake,
Numbing my fingers as I fish the river’s edge,
Another trout flails in the air caught by my line.

A hawk circles to see my fish on the bank,
The sun breaks the canyon wall,
The warmth reflects off the water onto my face.

The sound of the river blankets my inner thoughts,
The moment stays clear and my body is aware,
My instincts guide me from hole to hole.

All alone yet embraced by the surrounding environment,
My line splashes into the water upstream,
It tumbles down the waters current to the bank.

A small nibble, and then another, I pull my reel,
Moving opposite directions are the fish and I,
Yet we meet at the river’s edge.

I release the hook, letting the fish swim free,
Looking back down stream I see my wife smiling,
We are happy fishermen.