I love to fish, and for more years than I can remember I have been coming here, to the lake. I spend the entire day here, every day, from dawn to dark. In the beginning I remember that I took my rod and tackle and a small lunch. Of course I knew that many said that there were no longer fish in the lake, but I had also heard otherwise, and was determined to be patient, and to learn the truth for myself. I would bait my line and cast it into a likely spot and wait, looking out across the great water. The far shore can only be imagined, at this distance. Over the years, while I have heard others say that the lake was drying up, shrinking in size, I have noticed little change, either in the lake or in my experience of it. The fact that I have caught no fish has little meaning for me, while the possibility exists. As time passed, I even ceased to bait my line, and then after many years, to bring my lunch or my tackle. I am always alone here, and from time to time I move along the bank to various spots, sun and shade. The places, the spaces where I was, close up behind me, and the new spaces I occupy open for me, as always. The sun, as it passes over, casts shadows through the trees on the ground before me. Some of them seem strangely shaped, like fish.