Tuesday morning, the sun rolled over the water in its usual fashion, spectacularly. Revealing itself first as a softening of the night sky, the new day gained steam as still more light gathered behind treetops on a distant shore. Finally the water itself reflected the crimson inevitability of what was to come and, as if cued, we began airmailing baits into the shallows, our reels singing. We were looking for fish.
Or at least that was our excuse. We would have made the trip regardless. How it was that we had the water alone -- and were not one boat among a flotilla of craft large and small filled with thousands of anglers and would-be anglers, each forgoing another day in the cube farm for time much better spent on the water -- was our surprise. But there we were, enveloped in a light show for which there was no cover charge, bedazzled not just by the new day but by the chance again to catch fish. Maybe we were just that lucky.
Of course an alternate explanation suggests that as a group we've become so expectant of entertainment being brought to us that we forego the chance to be thrilled if in exchange we're required to set the alarm for 4:30 on a beautiful summer morning. The truth is if you've seen one sunrise, you haven't seen them all. This morning, herons were airborne early and a hen mallard with ducklings in tow carved neatly uniform wakes on the water's mirrored surface. In the distance a dog barked while cars gathered ever more tightly in a beeline for the tall buildings downtown. Necessary diversion as the workaday world is, spinning the tireless wheels of commerce shouldn't be all that there is.
Sunset is good but sunrise is best. Go fishing. See you there.
Dennis Anderson • email@example.com