Riffles shushing ravens

Quiet is the sound of a rainbow trout in a bankside lie slurping mayflies from the film; it’s the bay of a lone beagle on 6 million acres of wild America and the whoosh of a merganser’s rise from the fog; it’s the ache in your body, the falling in your gut, and the rise again; and on the last day, it’s the ease in your chest recalling the journey. The 9-weight lays in five pieces on the plank floor where yesterday it staged strong and supple against a log post in four.