When first light reached over the hill and touched the far side of the lake, he pushed off in his little boat and rowed two-hundred feet out into the darkness. The water was calm. The night creatures chirped. The birds began solitary songs to greet the dawn. He could feel his breath crystalline in his exhale. He zipped his heavy jacket up so that it gripped his neck as tight as it could. He rowed again to get out near his favorite casting spot.

Where was his sandwich?

It was cool and his hands were kind of stiff from sleeping in the back of his truck. His stomach started to rumble, and he knew he had grabbed his cheese sandwich and put it with the rest of his gear in the boat. But now it was not by him, under his seat, by the tackle box, in his sling bag.

Where was his sandwich?

He clicked on his headlamp, and the thin beam scouted around the floor of the boat. And wouldn’t you know it. There it was, in the wedge of the bow.

He thought he would use his fishing pole to try and snag and drag it toward him, but he lacked dexterity and precision.

He was impetuous and hungry and he leaned forward to try and reach it but his weight fell to the right.

In an infinite moment, the boat lifted on the left side, and then rolled, ejecting him into the cold lake.

As the water filled his clothes and shocked the breath out of him, his boat spilled his gear into the lake as well. His pole sunk. His tackle box sunk. His thermos sunk. His extra pair of shoes sunk. And his boat then also sank.

When he heard a rustle in the trees to his distant right and saw the morning light kissing more of the water and he leaned to float on his back and paddle with his arms, he looked around. A doe and a a fawn stared at him from under a stand of trees on the bank. A frog burped. The bug chirps had stopped and started again.

And floating in the shadowy dark 10 feet in front of him, he could see in the ziplock bag was his cheese sandwich.