@ddtpecko 20 December 2021 more from that month

Hello, you are expecting a fishing diary but another time. Now I will present you a song or a mini story written by my friend Robert Koska. I would give this name: Grandpa and the boy I wouldn't write much about this, so read on. Painted poetry is the work of my hands and the illustration is taken from the net .. Clear early morning, not yet dawn. Twigs are growing louder under their feet. A grandfather slowly made his way through the grove. axes fishing rod and everything else you need. An old, long, coat hangs on it. It's dark. Only outlines can be seen from the trail. There isn't much left, the river is close. A hidden place that only awaits him. As soon as he arrives, it starts to light up. The fish is being fished, it will be a good catch. He unfolded his cane, sat down on a small chair. He carefully set the bait on the hook. A mystical layer of fog hovered over the river. Beautiful to watch, disables sudden movements. Hypnotized, the old man watched the fog flow. It soon disappeared and every trace of it was almost evening. The dance of the float could now be clearly seen. For every miss on the counter, a curse was heard. He pushed everything into the primrose and the like into his chin. The sun had already risen and he was not in the shade. At one point, he looked down a little better. Only then did he notice the boy looking straight at him. The boy was also fishing, holding a short stick in his hand. He concentrated his gaze on the float, the sounds gone. The boys' and grandfather's swimmers merged into one. The float started tango on the water, energetic and worth watching. He danced in all directions, left and then right. Then he dived under the water, very quickly and furiously. The surface of the water stirred, the counter precision dropped. There was a fish on the hook, not so small. A carp of almost one kilo, Grandpa pulled out. With a smile on his face, he began to look around. The fight lasted only about two to three minutes. The water is now calm but the connection between the two fishermen has been severed. The child has disappeared and is no longer reflected in the water. Grandpa's memories are still there, but the fish is here, that's it. The float will be thrown more, and the boy will come back someday. Fishing is a holiday for the soul and your spirit always makes you young. ************************************************************************************* Dobar dan, očekujete neki dnevnik ribolova ali to neki drugi put. Sada ću vam prezentovati pesmu ili mini priču koju je napisao moj prijatelj Robert Koska. Ja bi ovome dao naziv: Deda i dečak Ne bi ja puno pisao o ovome, evo vam pa pročitajte. Oslikana poezija je mojih ruku delo a ilustracija je preuzeta sa neta.. Vedro rano jutro, još svannulo nije. Pod nogama pucaju grančice sve bučnije. Kroz šumicu se sporo probija jedan deda. osi štap za pecanje i sve ostalo što treba. Stari, dugačak, kaput na njemu visi. Mrak je. Od staze se vide samo obrisi. Nema još mnogo, blizu je reka. Skriveno mesto koje samo njega čeka. Taman što je stigao, počinje da sviće. Riba se praćaka, dobar ulov biće. Raspremio je štap, spustio se na malu stolicu. Stavljao je brižljivo mamac nna udicu. Iznad reke lebdeo je mističan sloj magle. Prelep za gledanje, onemogućava pokrete nagle. Kao hipnotisan, starac je gledao kako magla teče. Ubrzo je nestao i svaki trag da je skoro veče. Sada se već jasno mogao videti ples plovka. Za svaki promašaj pri kontri, začula se psovka. Terao je sve u peršun i slično sebi u bradu. Sunce je već izašlo a on nije bio u hladu. U jedom trenutku, na dole, malo bolje pogleda. Tek je tada uočio dečaka kako pravo u njega gleda. Dečak je takodje pecao, držao kratak štap u ruci. Skoncentrisao je pogled na plovak, nestali su zvuci. Plovci dečaka i dede spojili su se u jedan. Plovak započe tango na vodi, energičan i gledanja vredan. Plesao je na sve strane, nalevo a potom i nadesno. Zatim je zaronio pod vodu, veoma hitro i besno. Površina vode se uzburkala, kontra precizna je pala. Na udici je bila riba i to ne baš tako mala. Šaranče od skoro jedne kile, izvukao je deda. Sa osmehom na licu unaokolo poče da gleda. Borba je trajala svega nekih dva do tri minuta. Voda je sada mirna ali veza izmedju dva ribara prekinuta. Dete je nestalo i ema ga više u vidu odraza na vodi. Prisećanja dedina su estala al riba je tu, to godi. Zabacivaće se plovak još, a dečak će se vratiti kad-tad. Pecanje je odmor za dušu i tvoj duh uvek čini mlad.