PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

            The hum of the motorboat as it steadily cut its way through the seemingly endless sea had a surprisingly soothing effect. Rather than interfering with the natural calm around us to me it complemented it, due to its acquired familiarity after an unknown lapse of time. I say unknown because it’s impossible for me to tell if hours or mere minutes had passed since we parted, as I giddily turned to look over the gunwale. Like a sheet carved from sapphire, the water held a sort of deep, otherworldly property; so starkly it contrasted to the urban life that my grandfather, father, uncle, cousins, and myself were so accustomed to. The knowledge that beneath it lay an entire different world, dormant and immense, made it emanate a feeling that the only thing that mattered was this journey. When the motor was turned off my grandfather and uncle began assembling the fishing rods with hasty, experienced movements, while directing us where to shoot. Their experience was generously rewarded, as we delightedly pulled trout, drum, and more fish in no shortage. Of course, not every day was like this one. It’s hard to determine whether we will receive a hefty haul or not, but part of the excitement comes right after you place the first hook in the water, not knowing if a single creature will bite at all. Alas, it was one of those good days. While we were fishing, I noticed that my uncle was far more invested in helping my younger cousins and myself than actually fishing on his own account. Although he was the most devoted to the sport out of any of us, most of his pleasure seemed to be derived from everyone’s enjoyment, as he sank in the contentment that at some point must have drawn him toward this activity in the first place. At the time it seemed odd that the person who enjoyed fishing the most was fishing the least, yet visibly being the happiest. But he was, after all, extending the cycle that his own father had introduced him to, and was elated that his own passion was proving to be contagious. Under the nonchalant and joking manner that was displayed to everyone back home, here stood someone with unwavering care for his family and devotion to his own traditions. I wiped off drops of cool saltwater from my brow and glanced up to see that the sun was now slightly more to the west rather than east. Indeed, time flies in my uncle’s motorboat.