Supper is done and this is the first calm evening we’ve had for some time. The wind seems to always blow here at the ranch. My fly rod and lanyard are waiting by the man-cave door, as if asking to go out. You can see, then, I had no choice but to go.
The rod is strung, the fly attached. A Cypret Minnow this evening. The pond has been showing signs of life. Bugs hatching, fish rising. The sun is low in the sky, promise of the impending celestial saturation.
With a barely perceptible breeze, the only disturbance on the water is my fly. After the streamer sinks, the surface ripples disappear, along with my worries from the day. A steady rhythm now.
My mind begins to wander, and I let the calm beauty of the setting sun warm me. An aggressive strike shakes me back to the present, and I quickly look around me, as if to make sure no one saw me jump. A few more casts yield a few more fish, and I’m finding it difficult to continue because I am otherwise occupied by the setting sun behind me. I lay the rod down and grab my camera.
One hour after supper.