First of November.

It was as much about the walk as the fishing- the clear yellow hickories on the ridgetops among orange and russet white oaks, purple-red dogwood in the understory, crowned with scarlet berries. Enjoying the tail end of autumn, clearing my head before the opening of deer season and the onset of winter.

I’d take another six weeks of it if I could. More time to chase deer and ducks, crashing through fields and forest for rabbits and birds. I send a nymph along a seam until the stream bottom comes to life, cartwheels out of the water, bulldogs toward a rootwad, as cedar waxwings watch on.





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