It just glided along. Trolling through the water, barely creating a wake or single wave for that matter. It wasn't because they didn't want to startle the fish, but it was too peaceful to disturb nature that morning.
It felt as if gravity was extra strong that day, holding the mist from rolling into the hills - squatting over the water, like mother nature had taken a long drag on a cigarette, only to let it trickle out of her mouth and onto the lake. It was pure though. You'd breath deeply and your lungs would fill with it, bath in it, cleanse in it. It was cool when you inhaled, it tasted of ozone and moss.
The air was sweet with the smell of fall - decaying leaves and forest undergrowth. The oars of the boat barely disturbed the water as they broke the surface, propelling the boat forward.
They had set out with the rods to catch the "keeper," but this morning was too perfect. Pulling hard for one last row, they let the boat pull them forward, into the mist and out of sight.
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