moving water presses against my legs

faint wink of red, maybe gold

at the edge of an eddy

gray drying husks of stoneflies

clinging to the river rocks

a mayfly appears on the surface

then two, ten, hundreds, thousands

i sit on the backside rocks

stunned at the endless parade of mayflies

floating down stream

fluttering, drying their new wings

for the short flight away from the river

while squadrons of swallows dip, zoom

and pick them off the water or in the air

as the trout rise frantically

knowing that this gluttonous feast will not last


when all is still and quiet

a greedy trout takes my fly

and bolts downstream

my reel spins and hums

singing my song

Copyright Michael Douglas Scott