Last fishing trip of the season

If I were a poet, "A Blessing" is what I would say.  I envy so ~ those who possess the ability to "word smith".  All I can come up with to express my thoughts on the last cold day of the fishing season on the St. Joe river is, I step into the ice cold blue  of the upper St. Joe. The air temperature is 29 My nubbins are in danger! Somehow these Gortext waders are not going to "do". And, the Neoprenes are safe at home in dry storage. When younger  I would have remembered. When younger I wouldn't be so cold. We might have known as we grew older the seasons would somehow seem "shorter". But colder  as well?!! Not fair. It's over. Some how this does not compare to "A Blessing".  It was a blessing I made it home with out freezing to death. ;-) A Blessing by Ken Hada After three days of hard fishing we lean against the truck untying boots, removing waders. We change in silence still feeling the rhythm of cold water lapping thankful for that last shoal of rainbows to sooth the disappointment of missing a trophy brown. We'll take with us the communion of rod and line and bead-head nymphs sore shoulders and wrinkled feet. A good tiredness claims us from slipping over rocks, pushing rapids � sunup to sundown � sneaking toward a target, eyes squinting casting into winter wind. We case the rods, load our bags and start to think about dinner. None of us wants to leave. None wants to say goodbye. Winter shadows touch the river cane. The cold is coming. We look up into a cobalt sky, and there, as if an emissary on assignment, a Bald Eagle floats overhead close enough to bless us then swiftly banks sunward and is gone. "A Blessing" by Ken Hada from Spare Parts. © Mongrel Empire Press, 2010 Hope all is well on your side of the mountain, Skip, Gordon, Dad, et. al.