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Fly Soup

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Sandy Nelson:
Something different for the holidays. I was trying to articulate something and it came out like this  *smiley-tongue-out*

It’s early evening, moody and warm,
Low level martins are dodging and darting.
I’m Watching,
Waiting,
For the hatch to be starting.

Lost in my wonder, a season of thoughts,
Ephemeral dancers sparkle with light.
A dimple,
Intriguing.
I’m early tonight.

The weather’s relaxing,
Rendered by thunder,
A dimple,
Again.
Can’t help but wonder.

Fly soup at the bank,
Just drifting, a quiver,
A dimple,
Another,
A tail splits the river.

The water is nervous,
Charged up with life.
Prone Spinners,
Trapped duns,
Small sedges are rife.

Am I missing a trick,
Big fish need to feed,
Do they just wait?
Perhaps,
Soup’s what they need.

After watching a while,
With tiny sedge pupa,
A dimple.
A cast.
A bonny fish souper.

Another one beckons,
It’s showing a tail,
A dimple.
Some casts.
Shunned, this time a fail.

Perhaps it’s a spent,
In Orange or cream.
A Dimple.
It’s simple.
I’m living my dream.

Repeated procedure for several weeks,
A season of dimples, serious gold.
Make evenings,
Much longer,
Than I would have told.


Perhaps one out of three,
Can really be strong.
A dimple.
It seems,
Is where I’ve been wrong.

Ignore at your peril,
That starter of gloop.
A dimple.
It’s simple.
There’s a fly in my soup.

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