Much has been written to celebrate the notion of Home Waters.
Their reliability, their familiarity.
Their ability to welcome one, well, home.
This water I Know, like no other.
I know her faces- Spring, Summer, Fall.
I know her siblings, her children.
I know her moods- Impatience, in the mad rush of spring. Generosity, in the verdant days of summer.
In autumn- Resplendence.
Sunday, as I most often do with each passing of the high country season, I paid my respects. And once again, sated with the day's fishing, I found myself strolling over familiar ground, fly firmly hooked to keeper.