Notes from the river at the Seasons End

I fished the river yesterday and it was too high and coloured. I return today and its dropped a bit with less colour

Warm September sunshine the  river dropping, It feels right If a little high. I select the fly and wade out.

The cast is good I feel I’m doing everything right, each cast the line unfurls and the fly drops in the right place. Swing it around in the current expectation as the fly passes familiar lies.

As I walk the riverside field’s I note the fungi,  hazelnuts and the subtle changes that tell of seasons end.

At the top of the beat I look up river to briefly glimpse the graceful roll of an otter. As I climb from the river having fished the pool through a kingfisher brings a flash of electric blue.

Its hard to believe that another season has come to an end. It seems only yesterday that I walked the banks as the wild daffodils bloomed.

SEASONS END