How might I count the days?
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By the sounds of rain
On a field at night?
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Or should I tally mornings
Of fickle, teasing light,
On the edges of storms?
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Could it be the screeching egret,
High overhead in dark skies,
Framing chilling air into promises
Of frosty tinkerings.
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How might I add these days?
Where a single leaf,
Bright star fluttering,
Shuffles to rest,
To dream in the soft cradle of spring.
At this flow, the tailout is infinitely large – and maybe a tad bit too deep to comfortably wade. The water is running at six degrees this morning and a long pass through belly deep water would probably sap the life out of me – slowly and unknowingly. So, I decide to drop the pram in the water and fish through it from the dry. I didn’t know how the spey cast would work from the pram, thinking the edge of the boat might catch the forward cast as it left the water – not a problem and I managed easily with the circle, cack-handed circle and overhead casts. I put the Blue Hope into the fly rotation – and, to jump to the punch line – the only grab of the day was on that fly – the slow pause on the deep swing.
I wade fished the run up top, below the bridge and did a pass through another piece of water and just could not get the fish to move. I think there were fish in there, just too cold to excite them (though I don’t know who could resist pulsing yellow pheasant rump). The water had a subtle green color, that gave just enough secrecy to the water to keep it interesting. I ended up swinging a big piece of red meat (prawn) mid-afternoon thinking I could draw them from afar; shaking my head after each swing thinking it was nearly perfect. Casting rhythm was good, lost track of time during each pass (lost in the swing), and generally fished everything well. So maybe I did find the soul of this river today – passing along easily over the cobbles, happy in the doing, though craving just a bit more.
Nobody heralded the arrival of winter this year.
Soon enough, days hang still
Here we are.
On the cusp, the trailing end of something.
Unannounced winter.
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Leaden December sky,
Look west and see apricot sunshine
Spilling over everything.
Tell me your secrets here on the edge.
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Tomorrow the children will gather here
The snow gone in the oak woodlands
In the valley, the first flower peeks skyward
The children gather up their dreams and desires
All through the green grass
They gather them up as fast as they can
For Winter lives here a while longer.
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In the garden, a blue flower
Cobalt blue with a single black petal
Growing along the fence.
Do you remember?
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Do you remember,
When we walked along the creek?
Finding that same flower, the single black petal
The children all grown up
Now eating chocolate,
Cobalt blue flower chocolate
While they live their dreams.
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In the valley and through the oaks
We are still children
We gather up new dreams now
So that we might live them a little longer.
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Recall a still December afternoon,
Leaden skies, painted apricot
There we found a piece of Springtime,
And gathered it up as carefully as we could
Packing it gently for the walk down the hill.
Shaken Rain 