In a world of smoke and silence and music and talk it feels so good to be driving down to the opening of trout season, all sorts of miscellaneous thoughts racing around in my mind, surrounded by three friends. And then we are in the water and the bell rings and everybody starts casting out their lines and then voila somebody gets a fish. No matter how many times we moved spots, and maybe that was half the problem right there, no matter how many times we never caught one fish and came home emptyhanded. Emptyhanded but not emptyhearted. There along the banks of a stream rising with morning steam a dream got born. The dream of a lifestyle. The dream of a life. Could I really take someone's hand and wade through the small scary rapids? Could I ever have someone bring me sandwiches while I type for hours and hours and when I need coffee it's hot with cream and I'm happy cause even though I am a woman writer not a man with a helpful wife I can maybe still succeed. These are parts of the dream I thought of as I stood thigh deep in cold water, waiting. And then while I fished we went to Amsterdam, the Pisgah National Forest in North Carolina, to the high cliffs of Cape Hedo, the valley of gorgeous water that lies beneath an international Peace Monument. I wish for small things and hope they will come true. So I tell you now:
I saw the full moon bright through the river trees
high up as we waited for the 6:30 bell--"Fish now!!!"
our boots baptized
by the small wave of trout fin
oh so lovely to be in
that depth with you (by my side)
You still live a world away.
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