TR1

As the trip to the Baltic did not materialise, I went grayling
fishing instead.

Almost vertically, the fish rises through the clear water, and sucks
in the midge. Raising his arm as the fish turns down, the angler sets
the hook. After a spirited but unspectacular fight, the fish is
brought to hand, despatched, unhooked, and creeled, just as its two
brothers before it have been.

Walking home on the bed of soggy wet leaves covering the path along
the river, and viewing the few trees still holding defiantly to their
summer cloaks, though now mostly brown and tattered, angler´s musings
expand to encompass the day, and other things.

Fairly early on, the sun had shone briefly but quite strongly, and
thus engendered the rise to the midges. For a while the otherwise grey
day had seemed almost Spring-like, although the temperatures had not
risen much, and even in the sun, away from the damp dark shadows
beneath the trees, the cold wind had caused shivers.

Leaves had made the fishing somewhat difficult, touching the line, and
occasionaly snagging. Some stretches had so many leaves it was more or
less impossible to fish them. The hard frost the night before, coupled
with the gusty wind had caused a lot more leaves to fall. Green trees
like some of the firs and laurels now looked strangely out of place.

Occasionally, another leaf falls slowly to the ground, some drifting a
little way on a stray gust of wind. Dusk now, although not yet five ´o
clock in the afternoon, and the temperature dropping sharply again,
promising another good frost to come..........

Brown and gold on an Autumn day,
old leaves fall that were green and gay,
darkening skies and a chilling breeze,
the gathering dusk on the homeward way

A heavy creel but step still sprite,
striding on in the fading light,
no hurry now for the day is done,
the battles fought the prizes bright.

Where is the time? How did it pass?
hard to say but still gone alas!
life of a man just like a leaf,
which too must fall, the last impasse.

Grief and joy the same refrain,
time itself the tethering chain,
holding hard the future and the past
rants and rails are all in vain.

There is but hope for another Spring,
that new leaves and much joy may bring,
gleaming cloaks of verdant green,
brilliant songbirds on the wing.

TL
MC