gone fishing

At twelve, I discovered a world of quiet wonders,
With Dad by the lake, the dawn painted the sky in soft strokes.
We stood side by side, our reflections mingling,
With the morning light, Dad, with his patient smile.

He handed me the rod, his fingers guiding mine,
With a tenderness that spoke louder than words.
"The secret is in the patience," he whispered,
Showing me how to bait the hook, his hands had danced this dance many times before.

"Just like this," he instructed, as I watched the line,
Soar and settle upon the water's glassy surface.
The pond, a hidden gem cradled by nature, became our sanctuary,
Reeds stood guard as we, the explorers, ventured into the unknown.

The tadpoles, our elusive treasure, darted beneath the lily pads,
Teasing us with their swift ballet.
Dad's encouragement was a gentle nudge, his pride a warm embrace,
As my clumsy attempts slowly turned into confident casts.

Our laughter mingled with the hum of the pond,
A duet with the chorus of frogs and the buzz of dragonflies.
Though the fish remained elusive, our bond flourished with each passing moment,
We caught something far more significant than what we sought—closeness, a shared adventure.

A memory to be treasured, the biggest catch of the day wasn't a fish,
But the closeness between us, a treasure beyond measure,
A testament to the love and time we shared.
That day, as the sun climbed higher, marking the passage of time,

I realized that the greatest lessons weren't about fishing, but about life.
And the greatest catch was the love and connection,
That would forever anchor me to that peaceful morning with Dad.