On warm evenings, I often sit in my boat, playing the flute. There’s something incredibly peaceful about those moments. As I play, I’ve noticed perch gathering around, almost as if they’re charmed by the music. Above me, the moon slowly travels across the sky, casting its light over the ribbed bottom of the pond, which is scattered with remnants of the forest.

I remember when I used to visit this pond on adventurous summer nights with a friend. We’d head out in the darkness, making our way to the water’s edge. We’d build a small fire right by the shore, believing that the light attracted the fish. Using a bunch of worms strung on a thread, we’d catch pouts late into the night. When we were done, we’d toss the burning brands high into the air like makeshift fireworks. They’d fall back into the pond with a loud hiss, plunging us into sudden darkness. Whistling a tune, we’d make our way back to civilization.