Fishing in the Rain

I'm down at the beach this week, making a feeble attempt at relaxing. As always happens when I have time off from my day job I have massive writing goals before me. I'm prepping Bitterwood for Kindle, and I've decided to do a full rewrite. I'm not changing the story much, but I am polishing the prose a good bit. I'd like to finish by Friday, which means I'll likely put in a full fourty hour week.

The other thing keeping me from fully embracing the vacation is the absence of my father. Beach week was fishing week for us. I went fishing last night and spent the whole time thinking about him. It was a dark and stormy night, literally, with lightning far out on the ocean and a steady wind blowing a light rain that never quite reached a level where I decided to give up. The fish weren't biting. But, I had the pier mostly to myself, and there was a beauty to the dark horizon, with the ink black sea rolling beneath black clouds that would turn incandescent as lightning jagged within them.

I stayed out there for hours, thinking about what my father had taught me about fishing. Not much, really. He liked fishing, but wasn't very good at it. But, in the end, fishing isn't really about the fish. I don't think my dad ever said these words, but he taught me the lesson all the same.

And tonight, I'll go fishing again.

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