Remembering Trout

It’s a small thing isn’t it, not fishing. An insignificant inconvenience buried somewhere obscure in the corner of the ‘bigger picture’. Surely a sense of perspective is all that is required to accompany a sense of responsibility?

The Last Time We Met

Yet amongst the very real anxieties, this small thing occupies a disproportionate space in my mind.

No matter how many distractions of real life I create, the longing is never far from the surface and returns with enlivened regularity. There is something about imposed restriction that heightens the passion. I am prone to exaggerated emotion and at risk of a childish tantrum. I feel my humour evaporate with each additional sunny day.

If unsure before, I have no doubt now that I am a fly fisherman and not someone who goes fly fishing.

Amidst this new surreal landscape of quietness, clean air and vapour trail free skies, the rivers are showing perfect for floating a little Parachute Adams into a waiting mouth. That mere twenty minute journey though, is now as distant as a cross continent expedition. Thank goodness fishermen are patient people!

The little trout is not wondering where I am, it would upset me if he was. He is busy doing what he did yesterday and will be again tomorrow. He is nestled in his favourite spot, poised to flee or feed as nature dictates. A beautiful song on play and repeat.

Will I remember how to find him, fool him and free him? Of course I will……its who I am.

Mr Notherone

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