As The Sun Sets

As the sun began to drop this evening I was quietly paddling a small wetland river in a borrowed canoe. As the light faded fish began to stir. I cast a line upon the water, a march brown at it's tip. The wet fly was fished dry and was taken. A small shiner came to hand. With the darkening sky more fish at that fly, but not all came to say hello.

When the last light of day was on the water and bats began to flit, a muddler replaced the small fly. It was an offering to a pickerel, who chased but failed to hit the streamer. A massive shadow passed over: a heron came to join me. I was their for pleasure, he for food. It was his more important purpose that led him to out fish me. As spring peepers drowned I returned to the dock. Behind me, a beaver showed his distaste for me with two powerful tail slaps. Each was startling.