It’s the last dance before the winter winds begin to blow and a final cast in this autumn evenings fading light. As the warmth of the fleeting breeze touches my cheek and quickly fades to chill, I quietly ask “where are you going in such a hurry”? and it replies “I am going to fetch the spring”.
My aging will succumbs to the cold, I wind in the last of the fly line and clip off the dry fly and vow to be back the day the mercury rises above 32 degrees.
The last of the dying leaves rustle in the stand of hardwoods and the cold but fragrant wind swirls about my head, it is homeward I now wander, there waits my love and bed.