I crave the quiet intimacy of creeks
that feed the bigger rivers
roaring in the granite gorges
or widespread in redundant riffles
with nothing to say. I rather fish
dark cutbanks and water skeeter
eddies frothed below white dogwoods
arching over High Sierra leaks, eclipsing
all but mottled light as I move upstream—
each small pool a unique realm
for browns and rainbows
grazing transparent skirts.
Now that I know I won’t go back,
it is not an appetite for trout
that consumes sweet memories.
drycrikjournal 
Grabbed my entire family with this…….same as stories they’d heard……before they came to know their own.
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Although I’m not a fisherman, I do love spots such as those you describe. A blessed Thanksgiving to you and yours, John.
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Thanks, Janet! A good part of fishing is just an excuse to go to those places, like killing two birds with one stone, feeding mind and flesh both.
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Very true.
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