Tapping out time on the mast, I try my voice on a boat song. Sunset shows all its colors, but twilight is coming fast. Around rocks and under pines the paths wander in and out. Orioles sing on every side, hidden by leafy green. While nets are drying on the sand, we ll nap under the boat s awning.
Dancing grass hides the river s edge, going every way at once.
I welcome my snail-shell hut tucked away among white clouds. My hand fans the bulrush away as I climb the rock-strewn path. Well, this is what I do. A fisherman's life is idyllic, away from cares of the world. Do not mock the old fisherman, you'll see him in every painting.