Once upon a recent, rainy afternoon,
At the appointed, hatch-time hour,
I looked out the window, expecting them soon.
Out in the distance, the river was running,
Whatever might be there, masked by the mist.
But in my mind's eye, the picture was plain.
Beloved river.
Then a great flock of birds, some fifty-odd strong,
Came swirling and dipping, swift on the wing,
I couldn't be certain, to which tribe they belonged.
Out in the distance, masked by the mist.
But in my mind's eye, the picture was plain.
Swallow
The birds' tiny targets, too dim to cower,
Drifted along blithely, identities unknown.
But given their size, the season, and the hour,
Even out in the distance, masked by the mist,
In my minds eye, the picture was plain.
Blue Winged Olive mayfly, just hatched
Attacked from above, but not from below.
Their numbers so tempting, so it would seem,
Where were the fish, I was waiting to show?
Suddenly some cousins, wings standing like towers,
More massive and mottled, joined the parade.
Given their size, the season and the hour,
Though out in the distance, masked by the mist,
In my minds eye, the picture was plain.
March Brown mayfly, just hatched
Finally at long last, I spied a small rise,
Not much to see, just a nose in a circle.
Only the one, not enough to surmise,
Just who it belonged to, now below on the bottom.
But out in the distance, masked by the mist,
In my minds eye, the picture was plain.
Rainbow trout
Now in this extraordinary, shelter-in-place time,
Alone but together, in spirit and online,
Though out in the distance, masked in the mist,
I see you all plainly, within my own mind.
Stay safe out there.
Arlen
