The Perfect Prompting

My fingers are stiff and cold as I tug at another slimy strand tangled in the net. “A whole night of fishing and all we catch is wretched seaweed,” I groan.

When my brother doesn’t even grunt in reply, I look up. Andrew’s hands have stilled on the net. He is looking down the shoreline, towards Capernaum. There seems to be some commotion there, for I hear distant voices and, shielding my eyes from the glare reflecting from the sea, I can make out a throng of people. Continue reading