Reclamation [Archive] - Fly Fishing Forum

: Reclamation

10-23-2003, 11:52 PM
The air hangs
Like so much mud
On your boots

A now cresent moon
Eatin by aproaching
Storm front cumulous

Preasure, like a fist
Like dead weight
Pushes fish to the bottom
Hugging the silted gravel

Placid pools forgotten
Grey, black, amber holes
Of liquid steel

The trees produce
Insects losing vitality
Scents of Earths skin
in decline

A distant rustle
In the deep reach
Raises the alarm

Blue and Black wings
Break the windless ridge

A single raindrop
Falls, splashing on your reel
as you push aside
Crimson yellow leaves

It is all these things
And more for certain
That give you your meaning

Fresh water
And the life held within
Prophets say
The bond is ageless

The one wish
To be in the depth
Withdraw the line
Hear the

Watch the fly
Lose altitude
The Fish

Headed to the Umpqua Valley
Hope all is well


10-24-2003, 07:55 AM