Friday we returned after dinner to the trout-stocked pond near our home. We stood on the shore and cast our lines for a little more than hour. It was cold, and judging from the circles on the water, windy. Regardless of the weather, and we were dressed for it anyway, it felt good to be out casting.
Vic had no samplers or takers. I had two nibbles from clever trout who nimbly disengaged themselves from my lure. Both were too small to keep anyway.
Our time at the pond was relaxing for my husband after a grueling week of interviewing witnesses and new clients, and preparation for several upcoming trials. It was energizing for me at the end of a week of domestic routines that will probably never become the substance of a major blockbuster screenplay. It’s okay; I like my work.
Saturday we took Pisca Dory out on the river. The weather was still cold and agitated by our leonine March wind. The fish finder showed fish, possibly crappie, hovering on the bottom. Evidently they were too cold and sleepy to take us up on our offer of beautiful, shiny, colorful lures.
Soon the water will become warmer, and the fish will be energized, and the imperative to seize our lures and come home with us will be irresistible. >><>°