He sat back in the morning sun and thought about a thousand memories, all at once. He drifted a bit and stood up to get another cup of coffee. A hoot started off to his left and he looked to see who was there. Another hoot followed, with another close by. He listened again and was sure of the three separate owls. They charmed the treetops and soon must have found a new area to sing. He waited for more, gazing at all the activity on his feeders. A screech said wood duck and he went and filled his cup. There was a nice feel to this morning, it carried an air of happiness. The owls had topped the start of his day like frosting on a cake. He thought of a dozen things he could do, but sat in his chair and let his coffee get cold. He heard a song in the air, a song that was drifting all around him. He sat listening to it well.
He grabbed a handful of rods and reels and set to untangling the mess when he came back up on his porch. It was a part of fishing a friend used to say, when you untangled lines to get ready. He set to work stripping off old line and cleaning everything up a bit. He smiled remembering the fish each of his rods had caught, and was ready for the new season. He set all the hooks and weights he cut off into a coffee saucer. This was some major work and he could use a helping hand he thought. Pacing off his yardage he walked out the lines to replace the worn lines. Sometimes he used to have his daughter run it out for him both to take it off and replace the line. One year while putting up Christmas lights they found a piece of line carefully woven into a nest. No nesting materiel today, he wrapped up all his old line and carried it to the garbage. Placing a small weight on the tip of each line, he tested the casting of each pole. He then put on a few hooks and sinkers to have each ready for action.
He drove down past a park he used to visit as a kid. It was different a bit, but he came here often enough he enjoyed the gradual change. He liked the feel of the land and the spirit it created while out there. Looking at a few trees he wondered how big they were when he first saw them. He laughed at the silly play they did while as kids. The sandbar on the river was a beach, and up and down the river they played. He sometimes fished but the mud and water called out to him to explore. Clam shells and rocks always went home, prized treasures he still picked up. He sat on a washed out tree and listened to the water pass quickly. He could almost hear all the laughter he shared in this area. A smile swept over his face and his memories floated along the ripples of the river and across the plains.