In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Linger.”

The morning sun rises and the Atlantic ocean tide is receding. My eyes scan the surface. What I am seeking is a connection. I cast my line out beyond the rolling breakers. The tide is in full turn now. I feel the pull of the ocean on my line and weight of my Carolina rig baited with shrimp. Winds, they are breezing into my face. The current carries my rig downshore. I reel. There is no sun. The clouds obscure the morning light, breakers sizzle with sea foam at my barefeet. I cast. It plunks down and into the unseen ocean bottom. Grey, the ocean salt water has turned and began a run from the shoreline. My rod tip bends from the current, dips, releases with each rolling breaker. My eyes go out my head and into the sky with the seas birds, darting and diving with the wind and then into the sea beyond the first break. I feel the calm. My line goes slack. My rod handle is tucked under my left arm, my right hand is on the reel handle, the rod tip bends as an unseen force strikes at my bait. I react. The hook is set by a jerk of my left hand and arm in unison. The fish has engaged and connected with a mighty tug. It is fish on! Fish on! I reel.