Once upon a time, there was a young boy. His parents weren’t rich, but every year, they would close the shop for one week and head into the mountains to enjoy their time off. They always went to the same tavern, in the same village, by the same lake.
The first thing the boy always did as soon as they’d arrived and unpacked was put on the straw hat his father had made for him, before running towards the jetty by the lake. It was a simple, wooden jetty, hardly wide enough for two persons to cross, but it was his favourite jetty. Overjoyed to see it again, he sprinted onto it at full speed, coming to a stop at the very end.
He inhaled. Just like every year, the air smelled of the lake, reed, and the pines in the distance. This was by far his most precious place on the planet.
He returned here every night, without exception, with his straw hat still on and a fishing rod in his hands. The boy settled himself at the end of the jetty, hooked the bait and swung it as far as he coul