Winter Dream

shining eyes and smiled. "Imagine Cesar's face when he sees what you've brought home." "Grandpa's never caught one this big," Lamar said. "Nor Dad either." Jeff helped Lamar take the fish off the hook and put him on the stringer. He put the stringer in the minnow bucket. Lamar sat back down and began casting the fly toward the stump again. "Fifteen more minutes," Jeff said, "and we have to go." "Do we have to?" Lamar asked. "Your folks will be waiting for you," Jeff said, "and I need to get home." Lamar cast the fly over and over, but the water was still. There was only the pip of the fly hitting the water and an occasional plop as an acorn fell. All at once, acorns rained down. They sounded like flying gravel. "It's time to go," Jeff said. Lamar secured the rod and put it under the seat. "We'll go fishing again sometime," Jeff said. He started the motor, turned the boat, and opened it up. He was glad to leave the bluff behind and turn the boat toward the dock. He pulled the stick back, and the boat slowed down. When he docked, Lamar jumped out to hold the boat. He helped Jeff get the boat on the trailer, hook up the taillights, and secure everything. Jeff put the ice chest and the fishing tackle into the Bronco. Last of all, he took the stringer out of the minnow bucket and held it up. "A nice bass," he said. "It might be the championship first-fish-caught-on-afly -rod or all time." Lamar grinned. He started to take the fish off the stringer. Jeff shook his head. "Cesar can bring it to me tomorrow." "Thanks for taking me," Lamar said. He ran across to the men. His legs looked longer than life as he ran toward the big red sun, his shadow stretching across the parking lot, his head bobbing in the gravel. He held the fish out in front of him so the men could see it before he got there. They got up to admire it. Lamar and the men waved. Jeff waved back and turned to get in the Bronco. There was a nick in the paint near the door handle. He looked down at the scuff mark where he had kicked the mound of gravel. He sighed. A childish thing to do! But he was glad he had taken Lamar fishing. It had been good to watch a boy learning to cast a fly rod. He could almost imagine Anthony sitting there in the swivel chair, flicking a fly at a stump. Anthony was still too young for flyfishing , of course, but he was old enough to use a cane pole with a cork that bobbed up and down when he got a bite. Whistling the old gospel tune, "Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho," Jeff got in the Bronco and started the engine. Perhaps it still wasn't too late to take Anthony for ice cream. Winter Dream We will meet spring in the Blue Ridge, with ice falls, fingerling trout, and bees in the apple orchard, when ghost cattle move from the old dairy barn, up the mountain, and spirit Cherokee stalk living deer. From beneath this winter's night we will move, somewhere in the blue mountain mist and brown mountain lights, to touch the warming stone, mist maker, keeper of legends. I will turn to you and there, with the turn of a linen shawl, you will recreate the world. —Ray Hackett 19 ...