Knishing

"It'll be good for us" he said. "And it won't really be about fishing or knitting, or how much I catch or how much you get done, it'll just be good for us, you know, just us."

He's not the mushy gushy type, who lights candles, sprinkles rose petals and draws me a warm bath, but I tell you when he comes up with statements like that, he may as well have.

We began our time on the water again, now that the cold has passed, and resurrected our tradition of knishing. Last night probably should have been called "phishing", not the kind where people try to steal your information through the internet, but rather where he fishes and I take pictures, over 100 pictures. I brought the knitting, sure, but it never made it out of the bag. It had been one of those days where I was tied up like a knot and was in serious need of some decompression and I knew the last thing I should do was knit. At one point, after quite a long silence and I had been staring at him too, he said, "Okay....you ready to go?" Apparently he thought I'd had enough.

"No" I said, "I think my mind finally just went blank. You know, completely blank, without a thought in it. I'd like to stay longer."

So we did.

He threw the net for bait.

He caught some fish.

I watched.

And we caught the sunset.

The End.