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 Post subject: practice
PostPosted: Mon Feb 14, 2000 11:58 am 
Practice

Hard rain hits the lake
leaving circles like those
from a well-cast line
that arcs through air before
disappearing in water.
I have practiced this cast for years
without questioning
what I want to catch
or keep
from this place.
I know only that without it
my thoughts would scatter
like waxwings
intoxicated on fermented berries.
But here
I am rooted among the tall reeds
focused as a stone along the shore
learning the way a wave
takes thought farther than a line
cast out and reeled in
the way scattered raindrops fall
into a single sound.

-Ce Rosenow


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 Post subject: practice
PostPosted: Mon Feb 14, 2000 12:40 pm 
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Joined: Thu Sep 17, 1998 6:01 am
Posts: 2075
Location: Boston, MA
"I fish because I love to, because I love the environs where trout are found, which are invariably beautiful, and hate the environs where crowds of people are found, which are invariably ugly; because of all the television commercials, cocktail parties, and assorted social posturing I thus escape; because, in a world where most men seem to spend their lives doing things they hate, my fishing is at once an endless source of delight and an act of small rebellion; because trout do not lie or cheat and cannot be brought or bribed or impressed by power, but respond only to quietude and humility and endless patience; because I suspect that men are going along this way for the last time, and I for one don’t want to waster the trip; because mercifully there are no telephones on trout waters; because only in the woods can I find solitude without loneliness; because bourbon out of an old tin cup always taste better out there; because maybe one day I will catch a mermaid; and, finally, because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant – and not nearly so much fun."

Robert Traver, aka the late John Voelker, Michigan Superior Court Justice, The Testament of a Fisherman.


"Essentially, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters."

Norman MaClean, A River Runs Through It.


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