A Mayfly’s Chance At Sunrise

Cool breeze, swifts
Rule the skies.
Clear sun and
Rainbows rise.
Mayflies roll their dice and
Hatch amongst the riffled runs.

Tall walls
Exaggerate
The Owens’
Modest gait.
Imply a force more powerful
Than vision can relate.

Tall gorge walls echo and amplify this little creek. If you close your eyes you can imagine a much larger torrent from days long, long ago. It’s gotta be but a fraction now of what it must have taken to carve these depths. Though, she is tenacious, this little creek, and with enough time, I imagine she’ll cleave this place in two.

Yes time.

I sit beside her, close enough to feel her cool breath, tug free a water bottle and slide a well-worn guidebook from my pack. “I know the feeling.” I say, leaning closer, giddy even, as if I’m sharing some big secret. “These tall walls do the same to me.” I whisper and open the guide, as if I need to open the guide for direction.

Sitting there the fish are rising, the creek is boiling, this morning’s hatch is on, get it while you can it will soon be gone, I think.

Time again.

 A freshly hatched dun takes a breather on my arm. Well aren’t you one lucky bastard, those fish are ravenous this morning! I think, its dark delta wings upright and restful, pointing to the sky, a fork of a tail, long and whip-like.

I look up to where he’s headed, at the dozen-or-so swifts strafing a scrubby willow canopy with fly-grabbing speed. And now you’ve got them to contend with. “Good luck with that, little one!” I say as he takes flight again and heads up through the trees to press his luck.

Smiling and returning to the guide to the page I’ve seen a million times, “That’s the one”, I point and turn the pages toward the little creek. “I’m gonna try this one today, you carved a real wonder there.”

Good luck with that, little one, she whispers, her soft voice echoing and amplifying off the tall gorge walls as I get to my feet. Good luck with that, she roars.