Something to ponder on

It started for me high in the lake country on a cold winter's morning, as I rose from my warm sleeping bed roll to the smell of bacon and eggs. I looked up to see my father doing his best to bring life to the breakfast fire that had been dampened by the early morning shower some hours before. As for myself, food was the last thing in my thoughts as the sounds of fish rising on the surface filled me with expectations of things to come. The sun slowly rose as the mist faded away and the warmth crept into that cold bitter day. We had breakfast served with a hot cup of tea and my father gave me that great little chat about rising fishing which meant everything to me. I never did land a fish on that day and yet ; that memory never went away. The years have passed and my old dad is gone. I know he fishes somewhere in that great big pond. Now my own son is here and follows on. He repeats that trip with me, and I know his memory will carries on.