Sweet release, and free flowing fillament.

Theres something to be said about a woman who stands in the middle of a river waiving a stick. She fishes.
The sound of the quiet gives way only to the life of the water you stand in. It beats to a rhythm of fancy and a free flowing soul.

With closed eyes, hear the ages of time as they surrender their stories with voice of a breeze through the knowledgeable trees.

It kisses the leaves with a wisdom of certainty.
Senses revealed and surrounded by scent of untainted life and oh how peaceful the collaboration it has for the need in me..........I can breathe...
Fisher of men I am woman, river, brook, stream, creek no matter...if you see me I need to find a new place to stand.
Memory had a story of may flies hatching soon..fish will be hungry and desperate to feed..Got my fly on, to and fro as I seek my mark it cuts the wind with fine precision. The thought crossed my mind once of how a fish must feel.

Seems a shame to trick a fish with promise of treat, but as I stand in the river for my health as it seems a fisher of the wo part of man here I stand and waiving a stick shakes up my appetite. Must remember that fish do not think so a meal if I catch they will be.

Time of times in the life of a river I stand and I smile.

The odds are stacked against one of us out here, they give hell of a fight sometimes...and sometimes they win. But then again, sometimes so do I.

Beware little trout ...from tippet's first touch, doomed is a fish hit on fly, that tickle you feel is the river saying goodbye.

The best of life's reflections I've found, here, standing in a river waiving a stick.

I always find peace, and dinner if this time I'm lucky.