Fishing

The polished mirror surface of the calm lake perfectly reflected the shining disk of the full moon as it rode its path across the heavens. A perfect night for fishing.

The old man, weary from his days work, moved slowly down the path. His favorite spot like a warm and well used blanket waits. The place where the two large rocks come together perfectly. More comfortable than any new lazy boy, his throne awaits him, with its head rest of lush green moss.

He sits and before he even has his hook baited and tossed, time begins to slow. To slow to the calm, soothing, crawl known well to any fisherman. A perfect end to a perfect week. As the hook and bobber shatter the mirror that the lake once was, sending ripples as far as old tired eyes could see, the man reflects sadly where the time goes.

The warm, friendly disk of the moon is joined swiftly though by another shining light. One of much less hospitable disposition as it swoops and lowers itself into position over the lake turning it into a ball of cold fire. From out of nowhere and everywhere at once there are penguins dancing across the fiery surface. Green from head to flipper and glowing with other worldly light, they sing and dance their paths across the fierce burning white pit. Songs never heard before on this world and maybe never again.

“How was your trip dear?” His wife lovingly asks as he walks through the door.

“Oh, fine I guess. Didn’t catch a thing. Damn penguins scared ‘em off again.”