In the dead of winter

When nose hairs freeze

Your breath is a cloud of smoke

Fingers dry to the bone

And even the evergreens

Seem to be withering

The fishermen still

Make their way down the pier

With bait and reels

Carving away at the

Intricate frost patterns

That adorn the icy lake

To get to the fish below

They talk as they dip

Their rods in the water

Reminiscing on summers

Of pleasant vacations

On tropical islands

Where salty waves crash

Against burning sand

How they’d walk to the beaches

Tackle boxes in hand

To fish once more

By the heat of the sun

And the sound of the sea

Curious men

Who’s lives are so simple

Only one dream

I wish for what they have

Pure satisfaction

Life’s complexities abandoned

To do what they love

Never wanting

Or needing more

Men who could venture

To the edge of a waterfall

Watching the mist paint

A rainbow in the sky

And in the midst of it all

Would still want to fish