The sound of a river flowing ferociously-

water washing the side of the rock we sit on.

The wind rustles through the brush,

  bringing cool morning air with it.

It's nearly six a.m.

Looking over,

seeing a

  man in flannel and cut-off jeans.

My father.

He's casted out his freshly-baited line,

  hoping to bring home freshwater meat for dinner.

Our car is parked way up on the road-

out of sight.

We fight often;

honestly, sometimes I become convinced I hate him.

But this,

I cherish this.