Serenity, peacefulness, tranquility. At the sound of these words images of birds flying over white capped mountains enter your head, or maybe sounds of your favorite songs resonate through your mind. Everyone has a different perception of what absolute peace is for them. When I think of peace, I feel water splashing on my feet. I hear The Beatles playing from my phone, along with the faint splashing of fish or chirping of the birds. I can taste the saltiness of the lake water that has entered my mouth from the constant tying and retying of the line.

“Got one,” Branden yells to me, snapping me back to reality. My eyes move to where his line meets the water. Almost instantly a blur of green and white flies out of the water, flailing for its life. The frigid December air pierces through my jacket, and freezes my exposed feet. However, at this moment, I am far too excited to care. The first fish of the day is always an exhilarating event because we are ensured that there are still fish in the lake. “Get the net,” he tells me. I grab the net, reach into the water, and pull out the gorgeous animal. I lay it down on the floor of the Gheenoo and grab it by the lip. As I go to take the hook out of its mouth, it flips around on the ground. I feel a sharp pain shoot up my thumb and into my arm. I look down and see that the hook, which thankfully fell loose of the fish’s mouth, is stuck in the tip of my thumb. I try to contain my rage, but on the inside I am shrieking like a little girl. Luckily the barb did not enter my flesh, so it was easy to yank out. “You need to go back?” Branden asks. “No I’ll be okay,” I tell him as I wash the wound off with the clean water from my bottle. “You got a nice one. It’s probably four or five pounds,” I say as I take the fish by the lip and hand it to him. We always let whoever caught the fish to release it back into the lake. We admire the beautiful bass for a few moments. He then sets the fish in the water, makes sure it can swim away safely, and in one swift flick of its tail, it darts away into the water.

After the release the cold hit both of us. We were shivering in the icy air. For a Floridian winter, this was incredibly cold, about thirty to forty degrees. I was wearing the proper Florida attire for the winter: my Edgewood basketball sweatshirt, jeans, a beanie, and flip flops just to make sure I was not too hot under all those layers. Sure, Branden and I were definitely a little chilly, but we sure were not going in until more fish had taken the trip out of the lake and into our boat.

The rest of the day was comprised of Branden catching bass after bass after bass. By the end of the day, he had caught a total of eleven bass. All I had caught was a cold. Even still, it was a great day. Any day we spend on the lake listening to classic rock and catching fish is going to be one to remember, even if I do not catch any.

When we finally decide to head back to the house, it is just approaching dusk. The sun is falling just below the tree line on the far side of the lake. The sky is set ablaze by the sun, bursting with brilliant oranges and subtle pinks. It looks as though the sky has been painted across the atmosphere with precise brushstrokes. Beneath God’s canvas, an alligator floats to the surface, peeking above the water so that only his eyes can be seen. He scans his territory to check and see if any intruders have entered this king’s domain. We do not bother interrupting his prowl, and turn into our section of the lake. I pick the motor up out of the water so it does not scrape against the lake floor. The front of the Gheenoo hits the beach and we jerk forward in our seats. Branden jumps out first and pulls the anchor ashore with him. I follow and pull the boat ashore a few more feet, carrying my tackle box and fishing pole with me.

We walk up to the porch of the old brick house and open the creaky screen door. Every time I see the house I feel as though I am in a horror movie. It just radiates a creepy ambiance. It’s a forty year old red brick house with a wooden front door, a ratty screened-in porch, and it is in the middle of nowhere. I am honestly shocked at the fact that I have survived every night. I await the frightful night where I am awakened by the sound of a chainsaw only for my last sight to be a clown standing over me with that iconic terrifying smile… but that has not happened yet.

I shake these awful thoughts out of my head as Branden and I decide to throw a few casts off the dock before it gets completely dark. The king hears us trampling on the dock and he swims over to investigate. He pops his head up a few yards in front of the dock, realizes that we are no trouble for him, and he quietly recedes back to his throne. I continue to cast into the night with the rubber worm on the end of my line. As I reel in, there is a tug on my line. Then another, then a massive hit and I know I have one hooked. The pole is bent over as I reel in the fish. I pull it up to the shore where I take the hook out of its mouth, very carefully this time. I take it by the lip and tail and hold it up to view. I can see only a silhouette of the creature, but it is still a beautiful fish. It was one last beautiful moment before the day ends; the sunset in the background, a good friend beside me, and a magnificent animal swimming away to its home. In this one moment in time, standing on the shore of our glorious lake, everything in the world truly seemed at peace.