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!"