The Ice Fisherman

The icy wind blew up fine flecks of snow which sparkled in the slanting rays of a dying day's sunlight. For as long as Jack could remember not a thing had stirred his tip-up placed carefully over the hole in the ice at his feet. The late day sun, sharpening colors, and the monotony of watching the ice had put him in a dreamlike state that all ice fishermen can relate to: more likely to catch a buzz than a fish, thought Jack.

As the lowering sun cast long shadows across the frozen lake, Jacks mind began to wander: drifting away from the present like the shadows drifting away from the sun. He thought of his daughter. He always thought of his daughter. Why couldn't he have had more time? Or why had he used the time he'd been given so terribly? He felt like he'd missed everything, everything that had been important to Catherine. He'd gotten so wrapped up, the next thing he knew a lifetime had passed and Cat was sick...three months to live.

A cloud passed over the sun and the sudden chill woke Jack from his reverie. No fish, no further respite from his grief. Maybe I'll pack it up, thought Jack, head for home. A sudden commotion from some of the huts farther down the shore and the ever encouraging cry 'Fish On", made him decide to hang in there. He took a pull from the flask of whiskey, savoring the warmth it offered, pulled on his extra layers and re-set his line.