river

the river draws me.

much more than flies lure fish, the river lures me.


i know of nothing more therapeutic than fly-fishing. standing in the river with the cool flowing all around me washes my worries away better than any strawberry-misted litany of New Age affirmations ever could. it is total release. baptism. the river washes me clean.


when i'm not fishing, i dream of catching fish. the river swirls and eddies in my head. a trout rises. i see a flash of gold as i set my hook in the jaw of the german brown that took my nymph. i play him through the ripples, land him in an eddy, lift him out of the cold clear and admire the golden-brown worm-tracks that meander all over his back, the orange blue-rimmed rose-moles that stipple his side, the golden sheen of his underbelly. perhaps i gut and bag him. or maybe i slide him back into cool flow, a shot of gold released.


the influx of mind is a river. for me it's the provo, the soda butte, the lamar...

my stream of consciousness is laden with trout.