A True Fisherman

In loving memory of Bud Gilmore

He credits God for such a beautiful sky while walking in the early light.

Dew covers the tall grass along this favorite path.

He knows each fork and where they lead.

Waking birds just start their morning song.

Now the sun barely peeks.

Finally just over the hill he spots the white mist upon the lake.

His face doesn’t show it, but his childlike excitement grows with every step.

Carefully he sets down the tackle box and leans his pole on a dried out branch.

Oh, the quiet thrill he gets from snapping on a favorite lure while anticipating that first cast.

The line sails and the lure disappears into the mist and makes the familiar plurp sound. Instantly the reel goes into action and the rod tip bends slightly.

The tip wiggles as the lure winds through the dark water.

Like a thousand times before, that instant tug triggers a response, set that hook!

The thrill always the same, fish on, tugging and writhing.

This was my Dad and this was his joy!

Like a thousand times before, he knew His joy and he knew His peace and he shared his joy as a real Fisher of men.

Marshall Gilmore January 20, 2012 Miss you Dad.