• My eyes slowly rise up.
    I lifted up my body from bed.
    I slip my boots on
    My father has his fishing pole over his shoulders,
    watching me throw a coat on.

    We quiety step outside.
    It was christmas eve.
    It looked like day-time from the sparkles of the snow.
    The owls' hoo'ing,
    it's like the base instrusment for all nature.
    The subjasent, smooth voice,
    roaming the land.

    Ice fishing is our tradition for every chrismas eve.
    Christmas noon, we will have a feast of fish.
    We trudge through the snow glistening in our eyes.
    We stop.
    My dad, stomping his feet into the ice.
    A big hole appears with water flowing under it from a river.
    A frozen river.

    We sit on the edge, trowing our fishing poles in the water.
    Plenty of fish.
    Plenty of food. Fresh, christmas food.
    We sit there for hours in hope.
    As usual, Father hauls his fishing pole towards him.
    Quickly getting up, i pull with him.
    Water strewing everywhere.

    The fish abandons and quits pulling
    The fishing pole flies bove our headspole and behind us.
    With great, frozen tears of joy,
    we laugh like never before.
    We run after the flying fishing pole.
    It landed 30 meters from us.

    Father and I grab the pole and fish.
    A great, collossal fish.
    A two and a half foot fish.
    Frozen tears run down Father's face.
    "This is a great christmas gift--
    a gift that came from God."


    We take the fish home as night subsided
    Winter birds cheering us on as we carry our gift--
    A gift worth for frozen tears.