We had warm sun and a cool breeze.  I played pack mule and hauled all the gear to a favorite spot on the river in the park, all except for DH’s fishing pole that he held in one hand and his cane in the other.  After setting up his chair and settling him in, I walked a little further down river.  There, I set up my campstool, sat down, baited my hook, and made my first cast.

     A minute later, I had a nibble on my hook.  The fish stole half my nightcrawler and swam away.  This was indicative of what the afternoon would be like.  I didn’t mind.  I baited my hook and cast again.

     Three robins came within a foot of me.  “Sorry guys, he has the bait can.”  I pointed at DH a hundred yards up river.  They hung around me all afternoon.

     We had mallards swim by, fly by, and land on the water nearby.  Chickadees sang above us in the weeping willow.  A hawk called as it flew over.

     Joggers, bicyclists, dog walkers, and people enjoying strolls along the river passed by.