A day at the pond and
the birds are chirping. Fish
slapping the top of the water.
The smell of the great Ozark hills
hovers through the thick air
I sat on an old oak log,
Casting a line in the cool motionless surface,
water flying off the line as it
zips out of the reel,
the top water lure popping.

Across the water,
lilies are riding the waves of the
lure then splash
the fight was on.
An explosion comes out from
under a giant mouth
swallows the lure.
The line zips off the
reel, the line tight from
a constant battle back and forth. The line
at its breaking point.

Pulling with all my
might--the constant battle of
tug of war was over.
Tired weary arms exhausted,
my prize was on land.