Man Sitting 1

It was ironic that he had been planning a fishing trip for ages and here he was without any fishing gear at all. One blink and he was hundreds of miles away from that desk where he had been falling asleep while trying to type. He was a typist, not a writer: that's what capote would have said of him. And here he was at the perfect fishing spot without anything to fish with. Perhaps he could reach into the water with his hand aiming just in front of the reflection of the fish as he had seen them do on a documentary once, but then he thought that the water looked too cold. Those fish did look smug though, sat there staring back at him. Should he take up the challenge? No, he'd appreciate the landscape and forget about the fishing. His wife said to him that fishing did to a stretch of water what golf did to a good walk -- it spoiled it. What did she know though? He thought if he caught her now he'd throw her back in the water. He blinked again in rapid succession and sky, grass, water -- all peeled away, and he was back at his desk.