The local fisherman checking his pots.
Slightly stirring the water as he idles by.
He pulls each line and checks each pot.
Shakes it down.
Casting aside the ones too small, the fish, and the ones clinging to the rope.
He is the only one out on the water this morning.
It's cloudy and overcast.
The world is soaked and gray from last night's storms.
My head calms as I watch his methodical movements.
The next pot.
And the next.
He moves effortlessly through the water and disturbs nothing.
This world, one I thought I knew for my entire life, is bestowing treasures on me each day.
There is Life in the Water.