Like a circling Osprey, discerning.
Turbid water boils.
Stone fly's of pale yellow,
emerge from riffles..
Under the Grass moon,
Salmonoids rise.
From bridge to their lies.
Hiking, I anticipate them.
Splash.
I cast,
Splash.
Another charges,
then into my net,
landed.
On broken water,
again and again, we,
fish and I, repeat.
This sacred dance countless times.
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