The early morning crisp air steals my breathe. I yawn deeply to replenish my lungs.
It's dawn on Pass Lake and so quiet I imagine I hear the fish waking after the stormy night.
We travelled far and back to bring this new boat here. Here we call home.
Here that brings bliss to my boy and his faithful companion. There is no place else they would rather be, the two of them.
Today, my heart sings to be invited along. To know, firsthand, why they disappear in early morning darkness, not to return til waning moments of daylight. To see the rituals that begin even before the boat is gently lowered into the icy water.
To witness the skill of a fly fisherman ~ casting, hooking, quickly releasing his catch in one deft, choreographed movement.
I close my eyes and I can still see it's beauty ~ this sixteen inch brown trout, with it's brilliant coppery gold skin and reddish brown dappled back.
For a moment it feels like the lake is ours, but the awakening day brings others to our private world.
Camaraderie replaces the peaceful silence, with calls of greeting and fish small talk passing between us and other anglers as we carefully navigate around each other.
The world is waking up.
We notice everything around us...and everything around us notices us.
The wind picks up and ripples on the lake are now broken up with the patter of mid-spring rain showers. The fish have decided on an afternoon nap. We'll let them sleep.
We head back in and leave the lake to other boys and their faithful companions.
I set my feet on shore and stretch. The dog and I watch our boy do his rituals in reverse, a secret smile on his face, pleased with his day.
He worries aloud that I have been bored. I assure him otherwise.
I am happy to be here.
I am happy to be.