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The Creek
I stepped out of my truck onto the damp grass,
Grabbed my fishing rod,
And headed toward the path that winded up the mountain.
The sun had just risen and the cool spring breeze
tickled my skin.
I progressed further up the mountain,
Leaving stress and reality behind.
I got to the spot and opened up my fly box.
Looking at the creek, amazed at its beauty,
I casted upstream and let my fly
Drift with the fast-flowing current.
Bite or no bite, I was satisfied.
There was no other place I’d rather be.

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