First frost

It won't last, but fall arrived over the weekend.
Crispy mornings, fish enjoying the cloud cover, feeding all day.
Smoke rising from the rivers, and lakes at dawn.
I don't think there is anything that gets me more motivated to fish,
than the visible mystical union of air and water.
The two "elements" are always interacting, but now... I can see it happening.
It seems to move me, as much as the fish.
Over the years I've caught some of my most memorable fish, under futzing skies.
Soothing beams of sun, punctuated by spiting mists.
Waving grass, golden in the the meadows.
Clear low flows murmur hypnotically,
The cooler temps trigger the hatches that we impatiently await, all.... summer long.
Stare at a shadowed background, and a large array of bugs, back lit by sunshine will fly by.
Thousands and thousands of bugs, over many miles of water.
All these insect multitudes, giving it their best to reproduce.
For them, it's now or never.
Living a year or more underwater, hatching for this one Fall day.
To fly, mate, deliver ova to the water column, is their mission.
Many are food for fish before they can ever reach the water's surface.
Many more are slurped by surface feeders, trout large enough to hear.
Trout swirling like sharks, taking the future of these bugs, with remorseless regularity.
Recently I saw a heron stalking a largish rainbow, that was stalking some baby fish,
who were in turn sneaking up on midges.
I'm feeling the need to get in line too.
I'm feeling the need to stalk a large wild fish, stalking his dinner.
It's that time of year.