Thought I'd bring this one back to life with something I wrote about ten years ago, about this time of year on a river I still love...
After a near sleepless night, the fisherman arrives at his beloved river in the frosty darkness that echoes nature’s recent changes from summer to fall. In the light, if there was any, he knows he’d see the leaves that were vibrantly green the week before now yellowed and hanging precariously to the branches, soon to fall in an autumn breeze. The fisherman puts on his uniform of waders and boots, still wet from a previous trek, and partially rigs the rod for the walk to the spot – the place in his mind, just upstream, where the steelhead are resting after making their incredible journey.
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