The fishing rod was my meditation. When I touched it I was soothed, put into neutral gear, able to rest and see everything with greater clarity, greater empathy.
The fishing rod was years of happy memories, a different kind of photo album for the soul.
I could see the change sweep over Mark when his fingers hugged the fishing rod stem. He became his more relaxed and better self, as if there was an inner smile that hadn't yet made it to his lips.
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