did not mind answering the questionsabout what was in the lake, nor
admitting that so far that day,
they had failed to catch a thing.
There was a cool breeze conjuring
tiny whitecaps as the sun
began to hang low in the sky
like a scarf around a woman's neck,
and even if they wouldn't take
their supper home, they'd spent
a grand afternoon together,
brothers from the looks of them,
one maybe 10 or 12, the other
well up in his teens, but raised
to be respectful, pleasant, not
too proud to fish but proud enough
to know their casts were skillful.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013
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