After work today I came home, talked with CJ for a while, played with Ladybug, ate an early supper of sandwiches and chips, watched the only television show I have liked in decades, and finally said, “I’m going to go wet a hook.”

“Okay, love. Have fun,” my wife said.

I gathered up four rods, some tackle, and loaded my car. I drove down to the lake. When I walked down to it, deer pellets were common in the grassy path down. Then as I got closer to the banks, goose turds lay black and fresh near the reeds by the water. I could smell the fish.

The wind was minimal and it was hot–still in the 80s. I was sweating already. When I reached my spot, I laid the four rods down and put on the lures I prefer and began casting. A few strikes but I failed to land any. Turtles were mating in the lake about 20 meters out, two mounted brown shells copulating at the water’s surface. A few doves flew overhead regularly.

Catching no fish in this spot, I walked to another but still no luck. Just the smell of them and the sounds of the water and an occasional pontoon boat far out in the lake.

I walked down to the rocks and cast some more. A mallard was alarmed at my presence and eventually paddled out farther and joined his partner.

The slight breeze felt so good coming across the water. An old man with a bulldog walked the edge of the lake farther down. The dog played at the edges of the lake.

I drove to a small pond after that and cast my favorite topwater torpedo, and lost a bass in the reeds. He popped my line. I laughed and cursed inside simultaneously. That is the way fishing goes.

When I returned home, a pregnant doe lay near the bottom of the driveway. She’ll birth soon, her belly so big now with her fawn(s).

‘Twas a simple evening, but peaceful. Thankful for such times. Now to shower and read and study more for Sunday’s sermon.