Ode To Dry Fly Man
This rain has really tested the dry fly fisherman. All Winter he yearns for the first days of Sulphur hatch. This year the rain has all but stopped his fishing. He carries a heavy heart as the thunder rolls across the valley.
He tries to act interested in others conversations as the lightning flashes. As he glances out the dining room window @ supper time he knows another evening's fishing is going to happen only in the mind.
He sits in his easy chair as the evening wears on & nods off.
Dreams of days when the weather was perfect, the bugs were @ their peak & the fish dotted the surface as far as the eye cared to see.
There will be no shortage of the right fly here, and no desperate fly changes just as it gets too dark to see.
Fabrication of the mind this nights fishing may be, but it fills his heart almost enough to hope smile. For tomorrow is another day, and maybe it that storm will tuck behind the mountain just long enough for me to raise just one Trout.
One to keep the dream alive.