Fisherman
I’ll always be there if you know where to look, by a quiet pond or a running brook, in a boat that’s anchored in a sheltered bay, casting the shoreline at the break of day, watching for deer as they come down to feed, fishing for large mouth on the edge of the weed, walking the shoreline where cattails grow tall, by a country road where summer meets fall, on a grassy bank amid the birds and flowers, under the summer sun or cool April showers, relaxing at night by the light of the moon, where silence is broken by the call of the loon. So don’t grieve for me, I am still around. If you know where to look, I can be found. Where fishermen talk about the catch of the day, I’ll be no more than a few steps away.
