The sun scatters rhinestones across the surface of Mackay Reservoir where helldivers and merganser wave at the morning, their white wake chasing wings and webbed feet.
Dad sits beside me in his canvas chair watching dual lines, waiting for the tug-of-wills between fish and man.
It's slow again this morning, one rainbow in the creel an hour ago.
“Haven't seen the white horse this year.” Dad speaks between another rush of ducks in the distance.
“Maybe he didn't make it through the winter.” I meant it as a question, but it sounds like a statement as my thoughts cast out “just like momma.”
“Others have seen him.” he responds and we fall back into the morning quiet.
I'm trying not to let my mind spin like a bobber in an eddy around the mass of cancer I know is slowly reeling away my dad, but my line snags
and I turn my gaze away toward a drift boat anchored in a hole on the other side.
Laurel Lopez
August 10, 2025
