Harry whistled happily as he hiked the muddy trail, fishing rod cradled in his arm.
The last time in this area a beaver pond ahead produced one monstrous trout. Now with sunny rays on his shoulders, and some muscle strain in his legs---satisfaction flowered like a garden in his spirit; a happy day indeed.
Today was also special, as he remembered fondly. His wife said she loves him, and that phone call the other day, from a wayward son in Alberta was awesome.
The fish were biting along with the mosquitoes. Later, HarryÔs satisfaction with life allowed him to return a mother trout, and he laid her gently into the pond.
┬ Richard L. Provencher
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