when we old midwesterners say I’m Fishin’ at the Lake:
we mean ‘here’ in this here photo of the lake with pier,
the night coming on slowly and the breeze risen’, makin’
these riffles and ripples. the fish may and may not bite.
they may be coming up for feed, or going deep for still.
you don’t know, so you set your line in the mud/sand/rock
of the lake shore and pop open a brewskis and enjoy the
coolness, on account of the heat of the day, you were in
there in the old inner tube, just paddling around like the
kids, all relaxed, thinking about that sandwich in the dank
cooler and some chips and the crisp late summer apple.
all over the nation, FisherPeople are looking for this very
lake of their childhoods’ memories, and wanting smells
of summer tans and sunscreen, and weeds, and fish all
splashing out there, maybe taking the bait, maybe, not.
it don’t matter. it’s all in the imagination, anyways. they
say, You can never ‘go Home’. I say, Go find your Lake!
that’s ‘Home’ enough, when the day is right! Go Fish!