The sound of a river flowing ferociously-
water washing the side of the rock we sit on.
The wind rustles through the brush,
bringing cool morning air with it.
It's nearly six a.m.
man in flannel and cut-off jeans.
He's casted out his freshly-baited line,
hoping to bring home freshwater meat for dinner.
Our car is parked way up on the road-
out of sight.
We fight often;
honestly, sometimes I become convinced I hate him.
I cherish this.