All mornings should start like this.

Standing in a canoe as it glides along the surface, casting flies into the lily pads. The sun peaking over the treetops just before 5 am. The water so calm it appears frozen. A silence so loud that it displaces a weeks worth of noise. A blue tin cup of coffee with a nip of rye. Watching the water drip off the paddle. The gentle wake behind the canoe. A glacial pace, unhurried strokes. The line gathering around my feet, then leaving. A couple small pike to clear the fog, a few walleye to bring back for breakfast.

And one good fish to feel good about all day . . . while the rest of the world catches up