Time, by Len Harris

I walked to the stream as night became day. The peaceful feeling of the semi darkness soothed me and at the same time caused me to have a rush of adrenaline. The promise of big fish and memories to last a lifetime were before me.

The frogs and the birds were waking up and singing in unison. The moisture in the air was palpable. The sun was kissing the eastern hills of the driftless quite quickly and I needed to do my thing so I quit watching and began fishing. I was unable to focus. I just stood there. For quite a while. If someone watched me they would have thought me quite batty.

It was like the orchestra was playing my favorite tune. My anticipation was crescendoing. The orchestra just was more than I had expected. I wish that each day on stream could be like this.

The fog was hanging low in the valley. The heavens were at ground level. Future and past are standing still. It’s hard to explain to you how I feel each time I step on to a trout stream.

My senses are in overdrive. The smell of the wild mint stream side is better than any fancy perfume from Rome or Paris. I am the stream.

The sun breaches the hills of the Kickapoo River Valley and shines on my stream like a spotlight in a Broadway play. The first act is about to begin. I am giddy with anticipation. The early morning light on my stream calls my name.

I stood there and took it all in. I thought to myself: “I don’t care if I catch anything today. ” I looked upstream and downstream and smiled. Life is good.

I fished with my friend Jim and the hours seemed like minutes. My casts were smooth and pinpoint. It did not matter. I smiled and thought to myself, “How can I be so lucky?”