By Quintin
I listen to the timeless river
which flows over stones and
gravel.
Casting upstream into the
current,
I watch my line quickly unravel.
I search for trout in broken
water
and wait for the sharp tug
on the line.
A startled fish is fooled by
a Greenwell;
Following a struggle the fish
is mine.
The fighting trout is quickly
landed,
lashing about and gasping for
breath.
A feathered lure imitating
a nymph
has tricked it to the point
of death.
Extracting the fly from its
honey jaw,
I marvel at its stippled
flank.
It glows with life and healthy
vigour
as I let it slither down
the bank.
Seemingly scared but unharmed by its
ordeal
It enters the stream and
darts away.
I baulked at breaking its
neck in two.
It lives to fight another day.
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