In the chilly dawn, I wake to a world transformed
By the absence of leaves and the embrace of mud
The lingering scent of fish and earth
A pocketknife, a worn green shirt
Memories of him, etched into every fiber
The sorrow lingering in every stitch and seam
Outside, the world is stained with his presence
Every rusted nail a reminder of his hands
The empty spaces filled with his absence
At the edge of the shore, his belongings lay
A silent testament to his love for the water
And the life he lived within its depths
I pick up his old pliers, worn and weathered
And prepare the line for another day of fishing
A quiet moment of connection to the man I miss
The lake is hard and cold, unforgiving in its truth
But as the trout bite and dance in the sunlight
I feel him with me, guiding my hand
I pull the glistening prizes from the water
Each catch a small triumph, a moment of joy
In a world that feels so empty without him
So I wear his shirt, I use his tools
And I carry his memory with me
As I navigate this new world without him. (\"Papa Benny\") by Courtney Weaver Jr.