by Les Booth
The water flowed over my rod, now half in and half out of the stream. A gentle gurgle that normally awakens my spirit, now only lulled me deeper into the state of numbness I was entering. All about me the water was covered with the casts of dozens of mayflies. Mayflies which only ten minutes earlier were like manna from heaven. Now only flotsam in my dimming periphery.
I had entered the water at 3PM to wait and watch for the expected hatch. It was forecast to be a good one. Temperatures – air roughly 68F – water a balmy 58F – just right for a sweet hatch and the onslaught of an expected piscatorial feeding frenzy to follow.
The light of late afternoon draws my soul; from deep down inside, rising on gentle ripples to the surface. There it mingles with the haze of the day's events – tossing the mix, to-n-fro – then gently repacking the essence of longing for peace, on a quick ride to be refreshed by a gentle hush of a breeze. I know this time well. I long for it. It’s my moment in recharge mode. It's why I came to the water. It's where I collect those thoughts lost in the embattled storms of stress and life. It’s where I reconnect and recollect my soul.
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