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Untitled
Jallentime
The moon was beautiful that night. The cold and dampness seemed to hang in the air around us; it reminded me of the foggy mornings we used to enjoy when I was little. My Father and me would always go fishing on those mornings, "The fish enjoy it when the air is as wet as the water" my father would say "You don't get an oppurtunity like this every day you know! Use it while you can, child". We left my mother a note on the door telling her what we were up to, not that she didn't know. Regardless, my father would always bring back a hastily made bouqet of wildflowers we found along the shore.  I sat in the boat and watched my father untie it from the dock, "Did I ever tell you how I made this boat?" he would ask, I would reply in the same way everytime: "Yes dad. You and mum spent a day chopping down a birch tree with your bare hands" "And don't you forget it! That wood is as strong as stone and as stubborn as an orc!". He followed up his enthusiasm with a swift kick to the wooden dock that sent us gliding along the waves of the stream, spraying the icy cold mist into our faces. I let the morning dew evaporate off of my skin as we casted our lines into the water. As I sat motionless in our boat, staring at my bobber, my eyes would grow tired after a few hours. My eyelids closing slowly, slowly, until finally I was asleep.