Fishing

Quiet summer evenings spent picnicking by the lake, marshmallows toasted over dimming coals with perfectly groomed sticks, casting out over blue waters toward end of day and bites on the line for everyone, toes slid over the smooth stone bottom of the lake, pages of a good meaty book open beside me and baby on a quilt in the fading sun, the healing beauty of nature, the captivating scenery of the upstate New York rolling hills and farms on the ride home, windows open to the breeze and then stopping, by a little place that still makes homemade ice cream - raspberry swirl for all.