A midnight in June. I recall it in vivid fragments.
The cold moistness of wet hands, the roar of powerful rapids above, and the silvery water, full of tiny air bubbles, flowing rapidly in a strong run.
They are background for the real show.
Heart stops beating when a trout—a big one, it is no place for small trout—rockets out of the strongest current straight up, turns in the air and descents back into the water. Heart beats again. Fast. A moment later it happens again, then another fish, and another, and then the biggest and stoutest of all. They are perfect.
It lasted about 30 minutes.
No.
It lasted a lifetime.
3 comments:
absolutely.
And writing like that lasts much, much longer than the time it takes to read it.
Seeing that many beautiful trout leaping out of the water would be a sight in and of itself.
Post a Comment