081613 #worm The dock is calling. Sunlight penetrates the top two feet or so of green. Tiny bits of moss and duck shit hang suspended, given an earthly glow by that celestial intelligence. If there are any fish down there, they're not coming up where we can see them. But then—and I feel a little foolish for just now realizing this—that's the whole point of fishing, sometimes, isn't it? We make duck tracks on the invisible water.