Fishers of men


The old man’s day started before the rise of the sun.  Dark and bleary, he stumbled the few steps to where his nets lay drying by the last embers of the previous day’s fire.
He checked each knot by touch, counting and measuring in a practiced pattern and checking both floats and weights.
He collected them and walked to the shore.  A few stars still winked in the brightening sky as he slowly stepped into his boat and set out.  Few of the other fishermen were on the water with him, throwing their own nets and dragging them back to release any fish into the bottom of the boat to bring to shore.
Zebedee stood with his sons, and Simon and Andrew nearby.
The old man set out, rowing gently through the still waters.  When he reached his preferred spot, he collected his nets and cast them over the edge.

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