I am linking up the “Gypsy Mama” today who holds a Friday writing fest. Here is her take:
“On Fridays around these parts we stop, drop, and write.
We write bold and beautiful and free. Unscripted and unedited. We just write without worrying if it’s just right or not.
Won’t you join us?
Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking.”
OK, are you ready? Give me your best five minutes on:
He is almost ten—this little boy who came in October, right at harvest, ripened full.
And we have this tradition—a way to fit one-on-one time into the weave of our “big family” life. It is the ten year old trip.
So Samuel chose Washington. The Pacific Northwest. The home of my dear brother and his wife and their four charming children. My brother is well equipped for ten-year-old fun. We go boating. We play in the river. We hike.
And we go fishing. Samuel has never been fishing. Not ever. But he wants to try.
So there they stand, the boy-turned-man I remember from long ago and the boy-turning-ten, my son. We have made our climb up the Lake 22 trail.
Samuel learns to be patient. He learns to wait.
The line snags and Sam’s hopes look limp in the gathering shadows. But this is the way of a fisherman. Cast and cast again.
Finally the line bobs. It weaves. The pressure mounts. There’s a bite! Samuel pulls in the line, firm and gentle. And there, on the end of the hook, is his very first catch. A little trout, rainbow scales shimmering in the shifting light.