My red and white, one-inch-diameter bobber splashed to water.
“Perfect.” I tossed eyes to brown, fuzzy cattails, to zippy, blue and red dragonflies, and then held twelve-pound test line between two fingers. “Fish are in here. These babies will bite,” I said carefully.
“They will.” Close by, Wilma my sleek, green and black-spotted tree frog friend, winked. “Too, the bigger bass will bite me and cousins if we’re not careful, Golpher. Spring has sprung.”
I’d not seen Wilma since fall when I guess she’d burrowed to soft mud to ride the winter out.
“Hi Wilma. How are you?” My line was tighter, jerking.
“Okay, Golpher. But, it’s time for tree frogs to keep watch. Competition is fierce in spring. Like qualifying for rights to play in the U.S. Open, like fighting to make the cut, to stay alive, life’s a struggle. With life teeming, everyone wants to eat and stay alive.”