The stench of decay lingers in the air from the swimming dead of a month ago. Fall foliage now litters the ground and the leaf hatch has settled into the edges and eddies. The elbow-to-elbowers have left their remains treating the majestic river as their drains. The stacked like cord wood days are gone and the carcasses are sand bagging the bottom. If the circus has left town it must mean that chrome and brown should now surround? Not in solitude, but swinging with the like minded attitude. Methodical and deliberate each cast has meaning, into the void and left to dangle. Gliding my way to the heart of the run. One can almost taste the take. Numbing breeze and drizzle to stay, it’s the pursuit that makes me stay. Fishy is the water and anticipating the strike is there. Then the crash from outta no where. The trance leads to a glance, then a stare. You look up the flow and down. How can you not know? Don’t side step, just go! You’ve got the gear all in tow. Trek your way to the clearing going the other way. I’m not a prude, just ask, it’s a simple task. You choose to ignore and there you go, short holed again! My swing lends right where you stepped in, might as well be up to your chin. Why can’t you think? With this rod as a sword I shall shove you in the drink. Next time don’t be a dink there’s miles of river from which these fish drink.