On the Same Small Stream

[Ernest]

I had a few fish in my creel already. The little stream was always good to me, with brook trout to eleven or twelve inches long. Birds worked through the branches above the stream, a breeze rocked the leaves, and the clear water sparkled over golden gravel. The eight mile bicycle ride over country roads and the mile long walk on a narrow forest path paid off every time, in the spring.

Then the girl in hip boots stepped from behind a tree. She was joined by her father. They were fishing downstream from the banks. They had caught fish too. She was slender with straight white teeth and a brown pony tail trailing from under a green brimmed hat. She twisted stray hair with a finger and tucked it behind an ear, and she smiled. She stood with one foot forward and held her fly rod close to her body with the reel seat on the toe of her boot. When we faced one another she took off her Polaroids and her eyes were deep brown. They had fished pools and riffles that I’d been looking forward to, and I had fished a beaver meadow that they’d hoped would be good to them. We told fishing stories in the woods and then went our own ways.

I took home less than a limit. It was still a good day to be in the woods, a good day to meet someone with deep brown eyes, both of us walking the banks of the same small stream.

[Jax]

That seems to have been an encounter with a happy ending. Glad you had a good day.

[ofuros]

titillating....you had me when you mentioned hip boots.