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 |    Online journal capturing the moment and the memory of moments. A meadow meditation. |
| "Annie, go get your rod" She'd heard that all her life. Ann stood there in the cold water. Looked down the river at others standing off-shore. Cast her rod. Reeled it slowly in. Cast it again. The day was cloudy, just like yesterday, just like they predicted for tomorrow. She had plenty of time to think. That was the problem. Not the rod and reel, not the wary fish. She tried to meditate by breathing in the smell of spring runoff before the big melt, breathing out the stench of winter. The line became taut. Just a snag she thought. And slowly let the water work it loose. She would love to let everything go. November's heartbreak had led to December's dilemma. Should she have moved? No, this was her home. The river ran through it. The river had always ran through it. This time the tug on the line was no snag. She reeled in a small brown trout. Too small. She unhooked it, threw it back. Fly-fishing was what had keep her sane through her marriage, would keep her sane through the divorce. She pulled back her rod, let another one fly. There were always more fish to catch and release. With that thought, the sun came out. © Kåre Enga [176.73] (6.maio.2019) |
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