Happiness. It's relative.
I could fish
I could find worms
Thread them on old hooks
Cast lines like halos over the water
I could fish
I could tie knots
Fasten red bobbers
See slim fish swimming my way
I could fish
I could pour coffee
Hold steam in my hand
Watch water breaking in circles
I could fish
I could scale them
Clean them for eating
Fry their silver sides crisp
I could fish
I could row far
Let the sun set red
Glide along with a fine wake
I love the wistfulness of “I could.”
The rhythm and repetition is wonderful, like casting the line, reeling it in…
You did it again! This is perfectly done. Now I kind of want to go fishing.
I’m surprised that fishing as a subject could engage me so, but it did!