It was a bright and sunny day when my
father and I decided to go fishing down by the
ol' waterhole. I remember that the seagulls looked like delicate little clouds, fluttering in the breeze. We made our way to our canoe and rowed out, fishing rods in hand and a song in our hearts. As we made our way down to the waterhole, we became aware of an eerie silence. The trees around us swayed to a halt. Then, quietly at first but raising in intensity, we heard the
twang of a banjo. My
father turned to me, his face colorless as he said "Paddle faster, I hear banjos!"