Relentless Pursuit

Today the skies wept, and fishermen smiled. . . except those who were outside fishing. These days, I find there is very little that can stop me from wetting a line. I'm starting to think that dementia has finally laid permanent residence in my psyche. Today, I stood waist deep in ice water, as the winds swept off Lake Erie turning my drift upstream. Torrential rain fell mercilessly as if Earth's gravitational pull had shifted, as it pelted me from the side. Handsome bars of chrome occasionally revealed themselves as they porpoised and rolled in the distance and out of reach.

I sometimes wonder what alien beings would think of our race if they were looking down on me (just one of the many things I ponder while fishing). You can thank me for keeping them guessing.