Trout

The lake is still in the evening sun

A little breeze make the longer grass sway on the bank

and a ripple disturb the surface:

A mayfly lands

A swallow drinks and is gone before I see

With a rattle, a duck takes off from behind the island

Then it is still again

Beneath the reflections are fish

Sometimes - but not yet tonight -

A circle of ripples flows out from a rise

I wait

 

Clyde taught me to fish with a fly

I have tried to cast so well:

His line lands snaking across the water

leaving the lighter leader to drop

the fly - a coachman or a red-tailed gnat -

on the surface near the trout he had watched,

quietly waiting until it was ready to feed.

My line splashes down in a straggle,

the fly - I have a Coch-y-bonddu -

dragging clumsily and with a splash

onto the surface some feet short of the fish

I cast

 

I catch a few on evenings like this

But it is not the catch

But the rhythm of the cast

and the quiet susurration of the line

as I open my hand and it flows from the rod,

the warmth of the sun gleaming off the lake

the peace and tranquillity of the still air

the hovering hum and dart of damsel flies

the plop of a fish some distance away

 the noise of the reeds in the breeze

I love

castingdamselfliesfishfishingflieslakespastoralpeacequietsummertrout

◄ Prometheus Redux

Hen dŷ ►

Comments

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220August

Wed 24th Jan 2018 15:44

"But the rhythm of the cast" - love this...My mind immediate went to the sound of a framing hammer and nail (I love the way they sing and the rhythm of the work). My step dad will always shake his head when I use hand tools. "Just grab the nail gun," he'll say with disapproval. Just love the music they make. Thanks for sharing.

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Wolfgar Miere

Tue 16th Jan 2018 12:07

I feel that Chris, and it is peace.

Lovely focussed writing, extremely refreshing.

David.

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Graham Sherwood

Mon 15th Jan 2018 17:49

Being a fly fisherman, you had me at the title!
Evenings are easily the best

"the warmth of the sun gleaming off the lake
the peace and tranquillity of the still air
the hovering hum and dart of damsel flies
the plop of a fish some distance away
the noise of the reeds in the breeze"

Who ever needs to catch anything?

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