Hi everyone,

While at the beach, Jeff and I spent part of one evening fishing from the shore. Well I fished from shore. Jeff waded out some distance to cast. Score: Dad = 0. Son = 2.

The Fisherman
David L. Harrison

Feet braced against shoving waters,
toes clammed into sand,
he sets, lets fly his hopes
on the end of a hook.
The wait, the quiet,
the staring at telltale tip,
the sip of nourishment
required of the sport.

The tug!

Adrenaline spike!
Line taut, fins slicing surface,
silver flashes dancing
to the singing reel.

Beached beauties,
admired, spared, returned,
gifted with the irony
of being the wrong kind.


6 comments on “Fishing

  1. Love that you shared this moment, David, & the lines “that sip of nourishment/required of the sport.” I’m off to the beach next week. Your lovely photos make me excited!

    • Thank you, Linda. It was a great evening. Tim, Robin, Kris, and Sandy were all there, too, sitting in beach chairs to watch the fishermen at work. We had a gorgeous sunset. Have fun next week at the beach.

  2. Great poem, David. And the pictures add to the enjoyment of my experience. Jeff, you don’t look the least bit fat–you just need bigger fish to fry and I hope the beer was cold.

    • Hey, friend Joy! Thanks! The beer was cold and a fine time was had by all. Even the fish got to live to tell the story.

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