Home, the sweet smell of pine, it beckons me, calls me back every time.
The lakes and rivers so smooth and so incredibly blue, flowing along, calm and swift, unhurried.
The crackle of bacon and black coffee in the morning. All that I miss about my father being gone.
The snap and whip of a fishing line cast into the deep cold waters of Rainy Lake.
An Eagle soars overhead, calling for his mate. Proud and safe in the wilderness, always on the lookout for prey.
FISH ON someone cries and the boat scrambles to attention, nets to the ready.
The long sunsets in our country, lasting hours. Red drifting across blue grey of night.
The waves lapping at the shore, a fire crackling like bacon in the morning.