🎣 Two friends return to the same dock, morning after morning. 🌅
As a golden hue spread across the sky and glinted off the lake, a mist hovered over its surface. It lingered there as if the water were releasing a frosted breath. Along the shore, pine trees reached toward the clouds, hemming in the thinning haze. Two men emerged from the treeline before a rickety dock, worn by generations of use. The old pier stretched out like a patient man’s crooked finger.
The taller figure grinned as he pointed at the fishing pole resting on the dock’s railing with his own. “Is it normal for you to leave your rod out like that?”
A soft chuckle slipped out from the smaller fellow as he turned and poked his friend’s chest. “Marcus, considering I left it here to meet you about twenty minutes ago, it wasn’t an issue.”
“Touche,” Marcus said, “though why’d you come pick me up?”
“You caught me between casts.” Daniel grabbed his resting fishing pole and tapped the nearby open tackle box with his foot. The hooks glinted in the morning light. He placed the bucket beside the equipment. “I also needed to resupply my bait.”
“Why would you need to replace it?” Marcus peered at Daniel’s empty chair as he licked his lips. “By the looks of your spot, you haven’t had much luck.”
“Nope, been catching and releasing today.” Daniel pulled a fresh worm from the pail and prepared for his next cast.
“Too bad.” Marcus drew in a silent breath as he stared at his baited hook. “Have you ever noticed how worms always look offended, despite being faceless?”
Daniel took his seat and readied his line. When he finished, he rested the pole on his lap as he turned toward his friend. “That’s not a topic conducive to deep thought.”
“Why?”
Daniel gestured at his baited hook and leaned closer to Marcus. “I’m pretty sure you’d be upset if a stranger stuck a piece of sharpened metal through you.”
With a wry laugh, Marcus nodded as he laid his rod on a shoulder. He shook his head as he finished preparing his pole. He dropped into the spare seat and cast with a smooth flick of the wrist. The lure landed with a quiet plop, and ripples spread outward. He turned toward Daniel as he reclaimed the slack in his line. “Have you just been catching runts all morning?”
“Does it matter if I haven’t claimed a single fish?”
“What’s the point of fishing if you don’t?”
Daniel shook his head as the lines sat in the lake. Before long, silence settled between their chairs as they waited for the fish to test their hooks. In between silent moments, somewhere across the water, a lone bird called once before disappearing into the thinning morning air.
Marcus reeled in his line, frowned at the empty hook, and cast again.
Daniel watched his bobber as his fingers rested on the line. “Do you remember the first time you joined me on this dock?”
A soft chuckle escaped Marcus’s lips as he reclaimed the slack…
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Walking to the flames
