Poetry, Writing

Solitude

The river rushes past my feet
while I stand there in the water;
contemplating life as it passes,
and cherishing each heart beat.

The mayflies flutter in the sky,
completing their last stage of life.
Below, the trout eagerly wait
for them to fall to the surface and die.

I wait, searching for my soul
in the depths of the water.
All thoughts begin to fade,
nature is now in control.

The trout start to feed consistently.
I cast to the one behind the boulder.
The fly lands two feet in front of him,
I saw his nose break the surface, viciously.

I set the hook, and felt weight on the end.
The rod began to shake and bend.

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