Take the road you walk on.
The feilds of wheat that roll on for miles.
The whistling grasshoppers.
And warm sun on your shoulders.
The click-clack of pebbles under your feet.

You look up to see dirt specks shimmering in the air.
Trees streching as far as the eyes can see.
Falling leaves and crunching footsteps.
The sweet smell of fresh cut hay.
And each time you walk down this road.
To go fishing with Dad
It seems as though time slows down.

Some things stay, and some things change.

A new feild of hay to gaze upon.
The road you have walked on so many times.
Time and time wheat tickled your ankles.
The grasshoppers whilsted and hit your legs as they jumped about.
The sun forever warms your shoulders.
The pebbles always click-clacking.
The shimmering dirt specks countlessley catching your eye.
And the rows of trees shedding their leaves for the winter.

That sweet smell of hay that forever smells sweet.
A gazed upon bare feild soon shoots with life again.
And the road that you have walked on so many times.
The dirt road that leads to memories and so much more.
And all this happens.
When you go fishing with dad.