Feet dangling, the line sinks into the water.
Rod lazily in hand, the sun continues to sink below.
Pinks, oranges, yellows, bleed the sky.
Crickets chirp, cicadas sing, the frogs croak, the water still.
Summer air whispers by.
Wooden dock, chipped, minows swim 'neath.
Line tightnes, topper bobs, rod tugs.
Heat presses around me as the sun continues to decsend.
Rod pulls harder. I yank back and reel in.
Here she comes the fish and the summer, along with the dying day.