Michael’s standing in this week, and these are our choices:
Up the creek without a paddle
The River Flowing Up a Hill
When the Fish Stop Biting
Row Row Row ya Boat.
It was so peaceful here. He secured the oars and settled back to listen to Nature.
He knew these waters well. Those trees were deceptive in that they were completely separated from the bank, a natural island where the river had worn its way round them over the years. It was a haven for herons and kingfishers.
Not many ventured this way as the river became shallow and he remembered well the day he’d run aground and had to wait hours for someone passing to throw him a line and tow him out.
Nell would tease him when he came home empty handed, knowing he was a big softie and had released his catch back into the river. He would tell her tales to the contrary about the one that always managed to get away of course, and they’d laugh as they sat down to the meal she’d already prepared.
She would understand his need for solitude and for him, this was the perfect place.
He let the tears flow unchecked, grief wracking his body to the core.
Today the fish weren’t biting. Not that it mattered anyway.