Nymphs and butterflies were you? Simply a mystery.

to you, it's snoring,
but to me, it's angelic
so pure, innocent

That we would always be
children together, forever.
Though not weighed down
by the obscurities of this world
nor tethered to adults,
not even that we would live
in this painful world of math and science,
but in the clouds flying free.
In the forest like nymphs,
gaily frolicking in play.
Innocent in nature
and ignorant of the dark.

Hello, dear nymphs of evening, the witnesses of Helios and Nyx's eternal fight.
How come you sound so dreaming, a vision of waves with golden light?

I dream a million fireflies transporting me to this space
A Moon shadow casts a light upon my face.
A Young boy dreaming of tight lines on this Kinderhook NY stream,
Water droplets on frozen fly line, cast a prism sunbeam.

It's this time and special place that etches a constant memory,
Of Standing on that rock casting tight loops across the estuary.
Practice makes perfect as I make a presentation towards this riffle,
I can see a smile on my face, a moment in time that's purely transcendental.

With hope on the rise and a pheasant tail nymph tied to my tippet,
I make my way past the roily water to a calmer spot I'll inhibit.
Stripping line I load this feather chucker and place a nymph on the breezers nose
Zzzzzzz screams my reel and I scramble to fight this foe

As the snow begins to fall, I gaze upon this look of contentment in my eyes
And hover from above to watch myself learning to fly.
I whisper to myself, " Man life doesn't get any better than this",
As I kneel to release my catch, I watch him glide into the abyss.

And at day's end, I find myself walking beside the memory of Lou, Theodore, and Jack,
Three mentors who showed me the way, part of my Wulff pack.
Some Say "if I fished only to capture fish, my trips would have ended long ago",
And now I have something that money can't buy, the gift of learning to fly.