Dust floats in the early morning sunlight. I fish with my father 'til the light fails. There is a loneliness here, ghosts in the high peaks, pale with moonlight. The sun silhouettes the arc of the line, shimmering through the mountain air, and for a moment that loneliness is eclipsed by the utter joy of two boys fishing with their father.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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