|December 22nd, 2003|
A Midwinter Reflection
I can recall a late summer evening when the air was stilled
And the water mirrored the gentle Halo of the western sky.
Hushed and muted were the distant sounds,
And as I gazed about, a magic, an enchantment,
Caught me up in a moment of time
When all was one, and I was of it.
The gentle swish, swish, of the flyrod fashioned
Like a bubble slowly rising to the surface,
Whether wading a river, or on a lake in a boat,
In an esoteric manner, the act of casting
Or perhaps it is the tactile nature of the thing -
I am not sure.
But I do know that it means
River Bed by Dave Motes
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