When I think of patience, I think of a fisherman. Rising before the sun. Pole ready, tackle box. A thin finger of steam rising from his black coffee as he heads to the dock.
He is alone in the morning cool. The lake exhaling fog sleepily, the loons, a denim sky. He casts out and reels, casts and reels. He rushes nothing. He waits in quiet hope.
Continue reading “Fishermen Lovers (Love is Patient)”