Fishing starts out as a simple, pleasant memory. The speaker goes out one morning, and the sun sparkles on the waves. It's a bright, peaceful picture, the kind of scene you might expect to leave someone feeling content.
Then the poem turns. The single word "Why" sits alone on its own line, and the question comes back in the next line as a full sentence: why did I go fishing? The speaker closes with "I wonder," which leaves the question hanging rather than answering it.
What the speaker feels is hard to pin down. It could be doubt, mild regret, or simple curiosity about their own motives. The poem doesn't say, and that openness is the point. The mood is quiet and reflective, with a small shadow of unease beneath the sunlight. The short lines and the lack of punctuation make the thought feel unfinished, as if the speaker is still turning it over.