Deafening silence all around me.
Unbroken only by the chirping of far off birds.
And the gentle paddle strokes cutting through the water.
This is where I can be who I really am.
Free from judgment.
Pressure.
Responsibility.
I close my eyes and lean back, breathing out all my trouble.
Replacing it with the gentle breeze.
This friendly river behind my home has always been my sanctuary.

I drop anchor and cast my line.
Waiting with calm anticipation for the first bite.
This is a game we often play, the fish and I.
A game of life and death; yet a hobby as well.
Perhaps I am morbid for enjoying this, but the fact that I feel guilty is in itself a redeeming quality.
For even as I take the life of this animal; I do not do so with an ambiance of superiority.
Only deference.

I come back from my travels; smelling of worms and fresh spring air.
Without a catch, yet without remorse.
For I am not a sore loser
Though I have not won this game; I will always have more time.
I will always have another chance to play.