He cast his nets at dawn while his village slumbered.
Seagulls calling out to one another broke the silence.
The gentle breeze and the surf, he loved this time of day.
He could collect his thoughts and reflect on days gone by.
Oh, how it was to be young!

As the sun rose, it sparkled in the water like diamonds.
The sun warmed his face he squinted,
Because it was so bright and clear.
This was a good day to be alive he thought.

He was very old and moved a bit slower now,
Yet, he felt vital and alive.

Each morning, before casting his net,
He lit incense at his shrine for Buddha.
He prayed for a good catch, long life and joy.
He bowed gracefully and did Tai Chi,
His moving meditation.

He would take a deep breath, as he inhaled good health,
Then expelled all the negative thoughts, and ill will.
With the ritual completed,
He cast his nets off the shore.

To gaze into his eyes was to gaze into the wisdom of the ages.
The lines on his face, as road maps,
Took you to the ends of the earth.

Once tall and slim; now crooked and bent,
What were once long and slender fingers,
Were now gnarled and twisted stumps.
The result of age, arthritis and overwork.

Yet, the old fisherman was at peace.
He had grown old doing what he loved most.
A simple man,
Who had the luxury of quiet understanding,
He appreciated the things of nature.

He knew from the wisdom of truth,
That the only one he had to compete with was himself.
He had grown to have simple expectations.

He learned early in his youth to respect his God and nature.
In his old age, he was grateful for a single fish each day.
He was rich in wisdom as well as he was in spirit.

The oldest man in his village,
Respected elder of all the community.
Young people would sit at his feet
And be amazed at the stories of old.

He had the history of the entire village etched in his mind.
An historian and grandfather to everyone.
Although he never had any children of his own,
All were his children.

His wife of sixty years had died three seasons ago,
Now all the villagers watched over him.
But he still grieved for his wife.
She was such a part of him.

As the sun lessened, he drew in his nets and smiled,
For he had a good catch.
As the sun set with radiance, he paused,
Silently viewing the magnificence.
He thought of his wife.

He imagined her smiling through the sunset.
He silently said good night to her,
Then readied his nets for tomorrow.
He slowly made his way towards home.

How lucky he thought am I.
And how fulfilled was his life.
Tomorrow would be another day to rejoice at being alive.
To be useful and wise, to give counsel and tell stories
Those were age-old "friends".
It would be another day to replenish his soul.

He would recapture and reflect.
All was truly right with the world,
All the villagers were at peace with him.
To look forward to living each day
And to know ones purpose is to live.

To savor every sunrise and sunset,
To explore oneself with rejoicing,
The old fisherman had attained all of these.
Every day was a good day for living
Because for him, he had found his purpose
And had found his peace of just being.