A quiet troll across the lake Its surface still and mirrored The moisture in the air so thick As morning sun appears.

The line is whipped with deft finesse It sails with graceful ease Near reeds exposed, and tangled roots Just missing willowed trees.

The first bite starts the tingled thrill All time is stopped in place No sound or movement, not a breath This single-focused face.

A stronger tug, the pole is flicked The hook so cleanly set The game goes on with line kept tight The prize steered toward the net.

The feeling of accomplishment It saturates your soul Where skill and silent patience Are the answer to the goal.

You may not get another bite For hours through the day But Nature’s sweet serenity Is often why you stay.

There comes that day for all the best The fishing’s done at last The final time you tie a hook The final spinning cast.

But Lord, we hope a lake exists In Heaven’s grand design Where once again you’ll feel the thrill Of tugging on your line.

- Jeff Wright

R.I.P Jesse, I still miss you all the time.

My baby is in a Newborn ICU, so he does not have a private room, but a cubicle space.

The mother across from our cubicle is insane. She refuses to change her babie’s diapers because, “I’ll have to change them when I’m home, so I’m not doing it now, the nurses can.” Then 10min later, she goes on and on about how she wants to do “everything” for her baby. Yea right. She cries every time she sees her baby, and freaks out when the nurses are simply doing their job (things like taking the babies temperature)