A Fishing Story

It was a bight and sunny morning in the high country. The sun was warm, the air cool. Birds sang and the vista from the bank of the lake showed ragged peaks in the distance. Small white fluffy clouds broke up the endless blue of the sky, reminding everyone that that there was still some moisture in the air but not enough to actually rain. While the rest of the group unloaded an ungodly amount of fishing gear, I rolled out my yoga mat and ditched my sensible shoes and socks. Being useless to anyone because of my voluntary lack of fishing license, I stretched out on the bank and soaked in the the early morning rays. Lulled by the sounds of the birds and the quiet murmur of voices that discussed fishing, meditation soon turned into a nap. The fishermen moved to a shadier and hopefully more lucrative spot, leaving me to my peaceful slumber. It was my exposed toes that proved to be too much. An obese chipmunk wondered into my spot (they're all obese, as they get fed by humans who find these rodents too cute to resist), looking for a snack. Deciding that I was not a normal human and should be feeding the wildlife, the rodent knocked his nose into my toes. The first time the little beast came sniffing, I hardly noticed his presence. The second time woke me up with a start. I never imagined that the nose or face would be so soft, but judging by the fatty chips he probably consumed from others, his fur and nose were luxurious. Being woken up by a rodent looking for a snack was rather startling, and I was awake. Deciding that I had no snacks to share, Mr. Chipmunk darted off into some nearby grass, probably looking for a new mark. After being awoken by the chipmunk, there was no more napping for me. I moved over and "supervised" the underage fisher people. We soon packed up and left the lakeside spot. The ironic thing is that out of the group, I'm the only one who chose not to fish, but got a good story out of the experience.